


The Human Rayce

by KassiopeiaX



Series: The Human Rayce Trilogy [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, But the real monsters are people, Comedy, Complete, Crossdressing, Drama, Dystopian, Erotica, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Harems, Incest, Kink, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Major daddy issues, Master/Slave, Monsters, Multi, Polyamory, Pretty sure there's a tentacle monster in there somewhere, Regressively progressive, Romance, Science Fiction, Sexual Slavery, Terrible People Being Terrible, Torture, Trans, Vampires, diversity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 104,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/pseuds/KassiopeiaX
Summary: (COMPLETE) Pathological dom Rayce Gunner is the heir of humanity's last military hero in a dystopian future under siege by vampires. So when he accepts an invitation to enlist from his army commander brother, he expects to be treated like a goddamn hero! Instead, he is tasked with training the most hardcore soldiers he's ever met into perfect sex slaves for reasons he doesn't quite know. He does, however, know five things: 1. Breaking a soldier is harder (and kinkier) than he thought, 2. In this dungeon, masters can become slaves at any moment, 3. DON'T fall in love with your sexy roommate, 4. Everyone has secrets, and 5. His brother has the biggest, dirtiest one of them all!(99% M/M, the smut is plot-driven. Hardcore content: please read the tags for triggers!)





	1. Gentlemen, This is War

I never thought I'd be one of the red, white and blue boys. I mean you probably would have if you had known my father was once Commander of the Clear Republic Army, and so was his father before him, and his father and _his_ father, and you see where I'm going with this. In fact, you probably would have _expected_ it. See, my brother fell for the expectations of people like you and answered that siren call of the army. But he fell too far and now he's in too deep. It's only a matter of time before he crashes on the rocks and takes the whole damn ship with him.

But I'm not going be in that band playing on while my brother's Titanic goes down - not me - no sirree. Most people call me a rebel (if not an expletive), but I prefer the term ' _enlightened_ '! After all, how does a half-wit, half-trained army of humans from a shrinking republic beat hordes of immortal vampires out for blood? Literally? If you answered: 'uh, they _don't_ ', then hey, you can go home because you already know how this ends.

And yet here you still are. And here I am. An austere statue greets me in the front courtyard. Oh, I get it, very inspiring, but it just creeps me out because it's wearing my face. Well, not exactly. It's my father's face, but let's just say the looks run in the family. Behind the statue looms a huge concrete building; it looks more like a prison than a military HQ. It's really the same thing with more exercise, and tougher wardens. That's especially true for me seeing as this is my _alternative_ to prison. I went back and forth on it.

Biting down on my toothpick, I grin up at my newest cage. You shut up and play with the cards you're dealt, right? My brother sure dealt me some interesting cards. I hear the _clickety-clack! -_ of the police chief unlocking my handcuffs and bring my hands around to rub my chafed wrists. I'd say a frequent flier like me should have racked up enough points by now for a first-class version of those cuffs...

"This is your stop, Gunner," the chief says curtly, "But you belong in a _hole_." His disgust brings a smile to my face.

"I agree. Bend over." He shakes his head at my juvenile comment.

"I'd write you up for that, but you're someone else's problem now - thank God."

"So this is Fade HQ," I muse, "One foot in vampire country, and the other in deep shit."

"V-Vampire country?" The younger, less experienced officer whimpers as he tries to hide behind his shiny new gun.

"You afraid of vampires?" I chuckle.

"Any man with some sense in his head would be..."

"Then what are _you_ so worried about?" It takes him a moment.

Then he frowns. "Hey!"

"That's enough, Gunner." The chief interrupts.

"You don't have jurisdiction here, Chief." He takes a step back as I spit out the toothpick near his feet and narrows his eyes at me. "This isn't your cushy, air-conditioned office at Clear. You're in Fade now, and guess who runs Fade?" He says nothing, but the storm in his eyes darkens. " _Gunners_. Like yours truly." I grin at him, spreading my arms out wide and turning to show him my kingdom. I plant my hands on my hips and breathe deep. Smoke. Alcohol. Sweat. And... tater tots? My kinda place.

"You know what I'm gonna miss most about prison?" I say with a fond sigh. "The prison sex."

"Doesn't it... _Hurt?_ " The younger officer pipes up. I burst out laughing as I sling an arm around his shoulders.

"Do I look like a bottom bitch to you? You, on the other hand..."

He tenses, eyes wide. "But I'm an _officer_."

Pulling him in closer, I wink. "Your point being?"

"I-I didn't... I don't...." The poor boy scout stammers; he's obviously never been this up close and personal with an actual prisoner in his life.

"Hey, you want a freebie?" I whisper and jerk my head briefly at the police chief, "If he gives you any trouble, ask him why his tramp stamp says 'Rayce Gunner!'" The bigger guy has his arms folded and a stern expression on. As if he didn't beg for it. The younger officer's freckled face goes very red.

I wave goodbye over my shoulder as I walk towards the army base.

"Thanks for the lift, boys. The next time you hear about this place, it'll be chanting my name... Or up in flames!" My own laughter carries away on a humid breeze.  

" _Attention!_ " Followed by the sound of a hundred boots stomping to attention at the same time. That sounds _really boring_. So I'm probably supposed to be there. Sure enough, I find army recruits arranged in a perfect square in the courtyard, in their perfect uniforms, standing perfectly at attention. Wow, I didn't know you could slay vamps with superior posture! Complaints and dirty looks stack up as I plow right through the formation, making a beeline for the front.

The old army general running drills looks astounded to see me. Medals and badges make the front of his uniform look like a display case and his shoulders are studded with stars. Alright, alright, he's a great guy. We got it the first time! His name tag is a lot humbler, proclaiming simply: 'Weiser'.

Under a thick salt and pepper mustache, Weiser's lips twist with mixed feelings. His eyes are piercing blue, which helps them drill into me. "Rayce Gunner?"

"Sir, yessir! Ready to kick some vampire ass!" I give him a big grin and a salute and receive a grimace in return. Not a very fair trade. The other soldiers are much more impressed, staring with wide eyes. Shock and awe: my favorite reaction! I do my best not to grin but, oh wait, I already am. Names carry power out here in Fade. Just how powerful is mine? I feel like we covered that already.

"So why are we training in the middle of the night, anyway?" I ask an obvious question.

"Vampires are active at night," he sighs as if the answer should be just as obvious.

"And?" I press, "Shouldn't we be taking the fight to them during the daytime? You _do_ know they burn in the sunlight, right?"

"Gunner," He looks exasperated. "If you look around very carefully... You'll notice there are no suggestion boxes. I'm going to excuse your being out of uniform because you're new, but that's what you are: _the new guy_. We don't need you questioning the way we do things around here or talking back to your superiors. Now get back in line."

" _New guy?_ Didn't you hear me? I'm a _Gunner;_ I was born for this. Compared to these chumps I'm a five-star general with my own war shanty." The others seem to have decided what they think of me. And it isn't much. Hey, don't shoot the messenger.

Weiser's thick hedgerow of a brow furrows, shaded by the brim of a forest green lieutenant's cap. Then suddenly, the strict line relaxes; he laughs. "As an _actual_ five-star general - and I've heard a couple of shanties going around - it's hard not to take that as a challenge. You know what? I think you should start your military career the way I did. Sparring match."

" _Yes_." Now we're talking: time to bring the prison riot to this army drill! I bet I could take him. But Weiser just chuckles at my eagerness and scans the recruits.

"Matteo Lorenze, you're up!" He takes his pick. Oh. Alright whoever you are, prepare to go down. I step into the moonlight burning a ring in the dust just for the two of us as I unclip a weapon from my belt: a baton that extends to full length at the flick of my wrist. Swear I'd marry the old girl if she were a person. I spin around to face my opponent, twirling the baton playfully.

"Heeeeere's Gunner!" I laugh, but then I feel the smile slipping from my face as a soldier takes his position across from me without saying a word.

And he didn't need to; his body does the talking. He has an athletic build and light tan skin. The soldier's features are soft except for the intense focus in his deep blue eyes. Wavy hair frames them in solemn raven, but a highlight of red makes me think he has a wild streak that I'm really, _really_ going to like. A beaded feather earring hangs from an ear.

Fucking camouflage pants and trash country music: I have a thing for _soldier boy?_ Oh no, I am not cut out to be some army hubby. This must be how it starts: first the staring forlornly out the window waiting for the war to end, next thing I know, I'm dicking down our not-even-that-cute neighbor during his deployment. Only to hurl myself weeping over a casket wrapped up in stars and stripes while three different news stations push microphones in my face.

The sight of his weapon: a steel staff, snaps me out of that day-mare. I drop into a fighting stance, embarrassed by how easily he cracked my persona. _Get it together, Gunner,_ I warn myself. When the General gives the signal, I switch gears to rush in head-on with my baton at my side. Lorenze weaves out of the way and raises his staff just in time to counter my strike. A tiny smile tweaks his lips as our eyes meet over our weapons.

"Not bad!" I comment. I'm not sure if I'm trying to flirt or intimidate when I wink at him. Why not both?  

"Thanks. But I expected more from a Gunner." His voice is a sexy too-cool-for-you; his body is fire, and competitive spirit flushes my veins both hot and cold.

"Trust me, I'm about to _give it to you_."

I dish out my best moves: left hook, right, twirl, low sweep, upwards flourish, but his staff is there to meet me every time in a charged game of freeze tag, leaving me panting with the effort.

"At least they taught you to stall!" I say between breaths, "That should be useful when the vamps show up!"   

"Well unless you plan on boring them to death, I'm not sure you'll be doing much better." Before I can come up with another quip, he swings at my head- I bring up my baton in defense but he feints and sweeps my feet out from under me instead.

"Oof!" I land hard on my back.

"Hey, I think I _do_ know that shanty about you... 'Yankee Doodle', right?" Ha! There's that streak! I roll aside as his staff pounds the dirt. Springing to my feet again, I grin at him.

"You're bringing the heat, Lorenze." I flip the pommel of my baton to expose the red button there and push it. It sparks to life with electricity; arcs leap along the length. "But you're in for a shock." His stunned face is illuminated in crackling blue.

 

"Alright, that's enough!" Weiser breaks up the fight at last. I freeze with my foot on Lorenze's lean chest, my baton crackling just under his jaw. Lorenze meets my gaze unblinkingly and I'm drowning all over again in blue eyes. His brow furrows minutely as if he can read my mind and all the nasty thoughts bottled up in there. "Gunner wins this round!" Weiser announces to a smattering of begrudgingly impressed applause. That's the other thing that carries power in Fade. _Actual_ power. I remember to get off Lorenze and clip the baton to my belt.  

"Thank you, thank you!" Bowing jokingly before I turn around to help my opponent up. See? You can't say I'm a terrible guy. I grip his arm because, at this point, I'm just looking for reasons to _touch him_. "I'm impressed. You held your ground against a Gunner."

He smiles slightly awkwardly. "Thanks." And just like that, he's gone, returning to his place in the formation. I fall into line, satiated with daydreams of him, which General Weiser rudely interrupts with more orders,

"Alright, back to work. Attention!" That's military for you. A nonstop routine of simple, repetitive motions where you learn jack shit and the counts don't matter. But hey, I get it: the need to feel like we're doing something - _anything_ \- of value at the fag end of this endless, hopeless, pointless war. As the already-boring day to fucking day begins, I can't help craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the hot, raven-haired soldier. _He's_ anything but boring.

 

The other soldiers filter towards the building at the end of the training session. Wanna bet that if I follow them long enough, they'll lead me to food? I worked up a sweat and my stomach growls demandingly, but before I can follow, General Weiser's gravelly voice interrupts.

"Gunner. Your brother..." He's having a hard time getting the words out.  

"Oh, I love ad-libs! -Is the boss of everything around here, including you," Cocking my head, I ask, "What's it like taking orders from someone half your age? Or are you just used to that by now?" His thick brows knit. Now he says it like I deserve to hear it,

"Your brother wanted me to invite you to a meeting in the General's Lounge at 3 pm." A _meeting?_ Fancy... Well, if I have to be here anyway, I guess it's about time ol' Cissy shared the family glory.

I grin at Weiser. "See you there, then."

"I won't be attending."

"Sick?"

"Actually, I'm _not_ sick." He leaves without further explanation.

 

###

 

When I see something I want, I just _go_ for it, even if I think - no - _know_ it's going to end in a hot mess. And there he is now.

"Lorenze!" I find Matteo chatting with a couple of soldiers in the cafeteria. He wears a faded green tank top that exposes his toned arms and baggy camouflage cargos.

He glances at me. "Gunner." And shoves something hastily into his back pocket. He's adorable, but first - I shoot a glare so venomous at the other guys that they beat a hasty retreat. That's what I thought. No one gets too close to Gunner-marked territory. Then I turn a pleasant smile back at him. Lorenze is not oblivious to the exchange, awkwardly tucking a stray section of black hair behind his ear.  

"Hey, um... You were pretty great out there." He makes an attempt at conversation.

"Is that you coming on to me?" I pressure him immediately as I give him a once over. He wouldn't last five minutes in prison. Thirty seconds if _I_ was his cellmate.

"I don't want to make things awkward between us, Gunner." Matteo interrupts my tour by folding his arms over his chest with the body language of someone who's had to reject plenty of advances before. Suddenly, I'm overprotective of something I don't own and jealous of people I've never met. "We _are_ roommates after all," he goes on. We're cellmates _-_ I mean, _roommates?_ Dreams do come true!

"Why didn't you say so? Lead the way." I try not to look too excited. As he turns around, my gaze drifts further south than he'd probably approve of.

Lorenze and I stroll through the chrome hallway together.

"So, you really are Commander Gunner's little brother?" he asks at last. I nod, the corner of my mouth tugging involuntarily downward.

"Yep. Big bro Cisco. He practically drafted me."

"You didn't enlist?" Lorenze looks at me in surprise.

"Nope... All they told me was that there'd be babes. Turns out they were military babes." _Turns out it was you._ "Family, ammirite? At least he knows how to get my attention!" It gets a laugh out of him.

"Your brother is a prodigy. Without him, we would have lost the war years ago."

"He didn't look very prodigious in his froggie pajamas." Lorenze laughs again, but I just clear my throat a bit. If my brother is really that great, how come we haven't won the war? This isn't fighting. It's _stalling_. "And call me Rayce. It's weird hearing my last name that much."

"Okay, Rayce." He tests the name and giggles slightly, finally warming up to me. "You can call me Matteo." He stops, holding his hand out for a shake. I take it, but I want way more... "Matteo Lorenze, at your service." Yes, _please._

Matteo swipes his keycard to unlock the door to our room. Wow, do all the rooms look like this or are they just trying to make me feel at home? It definitely looks like the designer's inspiration was prison, anyway _._ The room is as monochromatic as possible. There are two plain grey beds: one against each wall and a wide, tinted window on the far wall. Hey, it's not the ritz, but it'll do. When you have as much experience as I do, you can make the best of sub-optimal equipment! Matteo doesn't notice the sound of the door locking softly behind us.

"-haven't had a new roommate in months-" I only catch a fragment of his rambling, a little stunned by the whole of his cute ass. Those pants don't do it justice, so maybe they should come off.  

Before I can even think this through (not that I was planning to!), I seize him from behind. Matteo cuts himself off with a small scream as I explore his body at a leisurely pace. A hand travels up under his shirt, across muscles just developed enough to give him his taut appearance without ruining his lithe physique with unsightly bulges. I'm already excited to try him out. We won't be needing both of those beds tonight...

"Rayce!" he grips my wrist in a futile attempt to stop me. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in the scent. His feather earring tickles my nose. "No..." he moans.

"I'm gonna level with you," I breathe hot and heavy, stirring his skin into goosebumps. "I want to make this as awkward as possible as _soon_ as possible." His response turns into a tiny gasp as I plant a suckling kiss on his neck. Triumphant, I feel his body yielding to me, melting in my dominating grip. What did I tell you? I. Get. What. I. Want.

Matteo brings his heel down sharply on my foot. Pain shoots up my leg - _fuck!_ I release him with a yelp, leaping backward as he stumbles forward. He whips around, blue eyes indignant.

"I said _no!_ Maybe everyone else in your life bends over for you, but I have some self-respect!"

His eyes widen as I hold up a roll of dollar bills - oh yeah, he knows exactly where that came from as his hand shoots instinctively to his back pocket and finds nothing there.

"So much self-respect that you sell your body for a couple of bucks? That's what those guys in the cafeteria were paying you for, right?" I challenge him. What a hypocrite. "Because if that's what you're worried about..." I reach into my pocket and make it rain. Singles flutter down around him, landing soundlessly on the carpeted floor. Now back in Clear, that would have at least gotten me a lap dance, but he just stands there, stiff. I see wetness in his eyes as he clenches his fists.

"You're a military brat who thinks he can get whatever he wants just because of his name."

"That's rich, coming from a whore," I say incisively. Does he really think he can preach at me? Matteo flinches but says nothing. He crawls into bed, defeated. I could overpower him, I did it before. Could shred his clothes, pin him to the hard mattress and force my entry. But those violent feelings are already ebbing away. A guilty pang takes their place. Ah fuck, what did I say? "Matteo, I..." The lean figure wrapped in gray curls up discouragingly. The rest of my apology comes out as a sigh. Come on, the forward approach worked so well in prison!

 

###

 

My eyes open in the middle of the night - shoot, I mean morning - or _do_ I mean night? I don't even care anymore. The blaring alarm clock pisses me off until I remember what it was for and decide to spare its life. The _meeting_ . It's broad daylight out there, I mean 3:00 pm kind of broad daylight, but the entire base is locked down, airtight. No light gets in through the heavily tinted windows. We're constantly in the dark - because _that's_ what you want to hear from your armed forces...

I cast a glance to Matteo's side of the room, but his bed is empty. I push the thought of him from my mind while I slip on a coat over my tank top. _He's probably with a client_ , I reason, bitter.

The Generals' Lounge is on the top floor. I have to press my thumb against a scanner pad just to gain access. The way the button lights up to grant access sends me on a mini power trip. Back home in Clear, when I have to give my thumbprint, it's usually because I'm about to be locked up. But here? It _opens_ doors.

The elevator doors slide open soundlessly on the lounge floor and soft pink light fills my vision. The atmosphere reminds me of an ultra-exclusive strip club, transporting me back to nights out on the town at Clear, first with friends and gradually all by myself. Pretty little things wove between poles in a pink dreamscape, their boyish hands on my chest trying to coax out tips while I tried to coax them into the back of my car. We usually succeeded. _Fuck_ \- half of them probably weren't even legal and I wish that was the reason they locked me up. Much more street cred.

Suffice to say it's a funny choice for a meeting... As my eyes adjust to the sultry mood lighting, I find a large circular table bracketed by curved burgundy sofas. At the head of the arrangement is a deep purple seat that looks oddly close to a throne. It's empty but top tier generals and lieutenants lounge on the sofas dressed casually in sports jackets and polo tees. Well now I feel overdressed!

Sure enough, there's a drink in every hand; a kaleidoscope of glowing neon alcohol. Huh. Looks like I won't have to make small talk after all: 'Can you believe this economy?' 'Some economy we're having, huh?' 'Not in this economy!' Wait, fuck, those were my only conversation starters.

"Rayce?" A familiar voice jolts me out of my thoughts. _Matteo?_ It was easy to miss him standing in the corner wearing a tan trench coat designed to avert as much attention as possible. His gaze turns watery and fearful. "Oh god." Then he buries his face in his hands. Before I can wonder about it, one of the lieutenants stands up.

"Sergeant Gunner! Welcome." _Sergeant_ Gunner? Okay, I like the sound of that. The lieutenant who spoke is tall and thin. Dark blue hair stretches to his lower back and a drink hangs precariously between his fingers. He's had a few already. "Lieutenant Axel." He introduces himself. "Your brother told us a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"Terrible things, actually." His lips spread into a toothy grin. "But it's alright. That's exactly what we need." I refuse to let it show on my face, but that expression, drenched in this erotic atmosphere, is freaking me out a little bit. I swallow uncomfortably; why is my mouth so dry?

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering me, he gestures at Matteo. "Come."

"Sh-Shouldn't we wait for the commander?" My roommate's voice trembles through his lips. Axel's congenial expression twists into something vicious on a dime.

"Don't make me ask you again," he hisses, "Because I won't be _asking_ anymore." Matteo shakes, but he looks resigned as he lets his coat fall from his shoulders. My jaw hits the floor at about the same time. Holy _crap_.

Matteo wears sheer black babydoll lingerie edged in lace, which does absolutely nothing to hide light brown nipples or the black thong he wears underneath. Torn black stockings reveal patches of burnished legs. As he catwalks obediently towards the lieutenant, the clicking of high heels on the floor has me hypnotized. Axel takes his hand and lifts it into the air, making him twirl slowly as if to give me a more thorough look, and _believe me_ , I am taking advantage of that.

The lingerie is just a sexy filter over his almond skin. Imagination is _so_ overrated. And now I _know_ he's a prostitute because only a prostitute would have kinky nipple piercings like that... Tracing down his slender form, I find more of them: a stud above his belly button, a ring below it... There's an incessant, hot throbbing at my crotch and I probably would have jumped him already if we weren't surrounded by people. His lithe body angles to show me a small pair of clipped black wings he wears on his back.

"This is our raven model." _Model_ , Axel explains as if he's talking about a car model. I half expect him to slap Matteo on the back or something. He lets Matteo fall back against his arm like a dance partner and grips his shoulder tightly. "And your first slave."

My eyes widen at that. _Slave?_ That's a... Well, that's quite a _word_ he's got there. It draws a despairing moan from my roommate's throat. I try to look him in the eyes but he preemptively squeezes them shut.

"Don't worry," Axel says, smiling at my confusion, "We'll show you how to use him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi reader, hope you had fun, and if you did, DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE- oh wait, wrong website... Well, a comment and kudos will work too (I accept anons)! Even if you didn't, hey, I'd love to hear what I could do better! Yes, this story is complete- but I still do reply to comments on completed stories.
> 
> You can find my upcoming update schedule on my [bio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/profile)!
> 
> \- KassiopeiaX


	2. Where Angels Fade

Their lips crush together. I watch, strangely fascinated and horribly aroused as Axel forces a kiss on my unwilling roommate. Skeletal fingers thread through Matteo's hair, which he manipulates roughly to change angles and shove in his tongue. Tiny noises of complaint slip between hungry lips as he explores the slave's body. Matteo squirms, hesitant to accept the contact but too scared to refuse it, until the lieutenant breaks off as quickly as he'd taken him. Matteo's plush lips tremble, slightly parted in the pink light. _Can I have a taste?_ I immediately feel guilty for the thought. Drunken cheering from the couches eggs him on. What is going on here?

"Hey, little bird," the lieutenant whispers in Matteo's ear, "Did you see all the new toys we got you? We brought some of your favorites too..." He gestures to the lower tier of the table. Oh, no one told me it was a potluck.

Brightly colored instruments of all shapes and sizes lie trapped under black glass. Horrible, flabby dildos in plastic and gel, stainless steel and rubber, vibes in - ahem - _unconventional_ shapes, plugs, electrodes, hell, whatever perverse, sexual thing man has come up with, and then some that the _devil_ must have had a go at. Placed ominously on the floor is a basin of liquid and a plastic syringe. It's a nice collection, but no one could possibly use them all in one night, right-? You know what, don't answer that.

I lift my gaze to Matteo, half-expecting him to run. Hell, _I_ nearly did and I'm not the one in my underwear! He's braver than me. He just sets his mouth in a thin line. Axel doesn't give him a break, wrenching him right up against his crotch. Matteo gasps softly as the older man saws the bulge in his pants between asscheeks shielded only with flimsy lace. Matteo arches gracefully against the lieutenant's chest. Reaching back over his head, he runs slow hands through Axel's blue hair.

"I can't wait, Master." His tone sounds sultry, but over-rehearsed and fake, like a pre-recorded message on a sex hotline. His eyes are glassy; no one's home. This is really happening, isn't it? I pinch myself. _Ow_. It is.

"Feel that? How hard it is? Well you're going to get it soon, slut. Nine inches up your tight ass." Little bird just graduated to little bitch. A shudder runs down Matteo's spine. They laugh at his reaction when Axel nips his ear flirtatiously like they haven't already racked up - what - _15_ or so different sexual harassment violations? Where's the HR guy when you need him? Actually, I think that's him sitting a few seats down rubbing one out... Lieutenant Axel glances at me, as if just remembering my existence.

"Take a seat and enjoy the show, Gunner. Today, you are just here to observe." I take his advice and fall into an empty spot in the corner.

Zippers come undone; some of them are jerking off already. Lewd eyes watch the show as Axel abuses the terrified, lingerie-clad soldier. What is this, some kind of sick satire on military? Stop it. Back up. These guys are the army's top brass. They're all that's left to between the innocent people in Clear and the vampire forces of Fade. So what the hell are they doing shit-faced drunk in some dark room raping the soldiers?

"So you're the new guy." A voice next to me catches me off-guard,

"Thoughts on the economy?!" I blurt out, turning in my seat. The man sitting next to me blinks.

"Well, the high inflation makes it a bad time to invest in government bonds. Do you think wages will keep up with the rising cost of living?"

"I..." I lower my voice and mutter, "I don't actually know anything about the economy." That brings out his handsome grin; he's good-looking, with a spiky quiff of jet-black hair crowning an angular face. His eyes are impossibly dark like a bottomless pit: the kind that lures you close with morbid curiosity, and then at the edge, whispers sadistically in your ear: _'jump'._ In another universe, the whole dark, dangerous mystique he's got going on would have me diving into his pants in 2.5.

"Sergeant Damon Black." He introduces himself. Sergeant, so we have the same rank.

"Gunner. Rayce Gunner," I say, short of breath to spare. It feels bizarre, _networking_ while the horrible scene plays out in the background. The black-haired man shakes my hand briefly. Thin, almost reptilian lips curl into a sliver of a smile.

"I trained him, myself you know. He's Lieutenant Axel's favorite."

"What?" I look at Damon incredulously as he sips all casual from his glass.

"Matteo? Oh yeah, broke him in weeks ago. Think of him as your 30-day free trial. A nice, easy maintenance project. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll be breaking slaves of your own in no time." Breaking? Slaves? _Project?_ Wait, but he's a junior officer, just like me.

I grab his hand, whispering desperately. "We have to stop this. We have to _tell someone._ " His eyes widen slightly.

"Rayce-"

Then I grab his other hand too, holding them both like a lover. "I'm a _Gunner_. I can protect you." I think I find light in the darkness of his eyes: the kind of light at the end of a tunnel.

We're both distracted by a shriek. Axel is dragging Matteo to the table. There are leather restraints bolted into it for his wrists and ankles. Which makes another horrible truth dawn on me: this is _routine procedure_ at this point. How long has this been going on? Matteo is tense when they lock him in on all fours, drawing the belts tight enough to mark his skin. Axel smirks at his handiwork and spanks Matteo.

"Like Thanksgiving dinner!" He laughs aloud. Then he ducks under the table.

My wide eyes dart immediately to the sex toys but he went lower. He has the biggest, nastiest grin on his face as he picks up the syringe. Matteo shakes his head mournfully; his lip trembles.

"Ready for the stuffing?"

"Sir, please..." he whimpers. Ugh, I know, food-based sex analogies are the worst.  

I watch the plunger of the syringe drag upwards, sucking water into the plastic barrel. Axel shows it off like a prop in a magic act.

I watch, paralyzed, while Axel line the syringe up with Matteo's ass. _You can't be serious._ He easily pulls aside the string of his thong and inserts the nozzle. Matteo jolts on instinct as if he might be able to dislodge it, but he can only cry out in anguish as Axel pushes the plunger. The receding water level in the syringe makes my stomach churn uneasily.

The syringe comes out and Matteo's face hits the table in exhaustion. So why is Axel refilling? Matteo only realizes what's happening when the nozzle is reintroduced to his hole. His eyes shoot open in horror; he rears up,

"Wh-What are you doing?!"

"You know, I just realized..." the lieutenant says nonchalantly as he pushes the plunger down in the midst of his victim's pleas for mercy. "I've been too lenient with a slut like you." Matteo's stomach rounds out slightly; a shudder runs down my spine. "See that?" Axel reaches around to massage the soft bulge. Matteo cringes, wriggling uncomfortably. "We want that. Much more of that."

"That's- That's enough!" But no one's listening as Axel drains a third injection of fluid in his bowels.

I can't watch, but I can't _not watch_. I want to go, but I'm frozen to this cold, dark spot, stuck in some perverted loop. Matteo's pleas turned into agonized moaning. His cheek is pressed to the table.

"You don't... Have to treat me like this." A tear slips down his cheek. "I've been your obedient slave. Your obedient _soldier._ "   

"Oh come now." Axel grips Matteo's thin face in one hand, squeezing to make his lips pucker. "A _soldier?_ We all know what you really are; we practically picked you up off the street. A dirty. Worthless. Whore. You'd do this for money, wouldn't you? _Haven't_ you?" I see him flinch again like he did when _I_ called him that. My blood runs cold. Matteo's lips are pressed together in a tight line as if he's about to throw up.

"You know what?" Lieutenant Axel says casually, "You were right after all. We should wait for the commander." He raises a bright red, rounded plug with a flared end.

"Wh-What? Not _now!_ " But the plug pops in, safely corking all of that up in his abused insides. Matteo lets his forehead hit the table. Then turns his face slightly as I rise from my seat. Damon's hand wraps around my arm as if to stop me, but he doesn't move either way.

"Let him go," I say quietly. The generals look between us.

Lieutenant Axel doesn't turn toward me, hidden by his blue hair as he asks at length, "What did you say?"

"I said _let him go._ "

The bright sapphire of Matteo's gaze glints at me through disheveled black hair. Lieutenant Axel takes a breath as if he's about to speak. Then the elevator doors open and he spins around to say instead, "Commander!" He spreads his arms theatrically. "You're late."

My heart stops. My mouth goes dry. My stomach sloshes like Matteo's channels. Because standing in the doorway is...

_Oh god no._

Cisco. Jagged flame-red hair frames an icy face. The only face that still faces the vampires - humanity's final bastion of hope: give the guy a goddamn drumroll, please. My brother, Cisco Gunner.

"What's going on here?" That frigid, self-assured tone of voice belongs to a man who doesn't believe in defeat - who took the mantle from our father without the slightest hesitation. If he noticed Matteo (and how can he not, really?), he doesn't say anything about it, as if there's nothing more unusual than a stapler or a magazine on the table.

"We were just orienting Rayce," Axel mentions. Finally, Cisco glances at Matteo, regarding him like a minor inconvenience. An irritated look flits across his face.

"We can get back to that. Sit _down_ ." Somehow, I know that was directed at me and I fall into my seat like a rock. Like a _dumb_ rock. Damon's fingers slide off my sleeve.

Cisco continues, "I want all of you to deliver your reports. Now."

Grumbling, the drunk generals root around in their briefcases for files. _Files_ of all things right now. He's still trying to run an army when clearly we're _a little_ past that point... They discuss strategy, scout reports and ammunition as the slave suffers in well-trained silence.

My brother doesn't even look at me. Even when I stare at the side of his face so hard I swear I must be burning a hole in his cheek, Cisco does not so much as grace me with the glance he allowed Matteo. What he does do is plow through the proceedings with surgical precision but, watching poor Matteo, it still feels like an eternity before they wrap up the business end. Most of the drinks are empty by now, their owners shooting the man on the table lustful looks. Oh, oh, I think I know what time it is. Axel confirms it,

"I think it's about time you tell your brother why he's here," he says. Answers? I'll take it! Cisco still doesn't look at me directly, but at least he's addressing me when he says,

"Rayce, I didn't call you here to fight in the war." Resting his chin in his palm, bored, he stares dead ahead at Matteo as he speaks, "I know there's only one thing you're actually good at and that is why I summoned you here. You are going to be part of our slave program, where you will train and discipline certain soldiers."

"You mean _break_ them," I say bitterly. "And the other word you're looking for is _'slaves'_." His shoulders lift and drop noncommittally.

"Call it whatever you want. Just get it done, or go back to prison."

"Why are you doing this?" I'm practically pleading with him at this point.

"That is none of your concern. All you need to know..." Cisco nods briefly at Axel who touches Matteo's plug.

"Wait, no! Not here! It's embarrassing!" Pathetic squealing. Axel just grins as he pulls it. I just can't. I can't. I look away, eyes screwed shut, with my head in my hands. When I slowly open them again, I find Cisco's stormy grey eyes locked on mine at last.       

"Is how to break them."

Embarrassed sobbing, almost drowned out by the ominous sliding of zippers. Matteo begs for mercy, "I can't..."

"Yes you can and you'd better do a good job, slut." Axel has his junk out: a slab of meat throbbing with virility. He must have had it enhanced somewhere, and I kinda wanna know where. Matteo's hole is so incredibly small by comparison. Axel decides not to worry about that, instead sandwiching his pole in the cleavage of Matteo's ass and sawing back and forth.

Meanwhile, Matteo's got company up front. The straps around his wrists are undone, revealing cruel red marks where they cut in. A cock is presented to him on either side. He gets to work, jacking them both off like a pro. He works with deft strokes, nice enough to fondle balls and lick the head too, even though I doubt he's going to get a tip out of it... Matteo's eyes dull as he gets into the groove of things. Military. A nonstop routine of simple, repetitive motions where you learn jack shit and the counts don't matter.

A portly lieutenant pushes a fat member in Matteo's face. Matteo opens his mouth to take him. Angled just right so the lieutenant can hammer straight down Matteo's gullet. He takes it right in his stride, never letting up on the other two he's servicing, with an elaborate version of the same kind of coordination you'd need to pat your head and rub your belly at the same time. Well-trained. So well-trained.

Portly cums first, filling Matteo's mouth with white. As he draws his limpening cock out, Matteo coughs the stuff back up. That's when he feels the impending danger.

"Wait!" He turns his head to look at Axel, who has slickened his ass with pre like a shiny glaze. Now he's prodding my roommate's hole with the monster tip. "That won't fit." Matteo quails in terror. He knows his ass; I'll take his word for it.

"Just watch me." Axel grins. You know, I just realized something. The one thing I haven't seen under that table is lube. Matteo's hole stretches obscenely as he powers in, inch by inch. Cries of agony go unnoticed.

"I've got you now, slut," Axel is bent over the smaller man, panting in his ear. "Take it, whore! Take it all." Matteo can only respond with broken sobs. When he bottoms out, the other men in the room cheer for him. Matteo's crying reduces to soft whimpers.

"Don't you love it?" Axel taunts, "Does it turn you on, being stuffed full of my cock?" At that moment, the two men Matteo had been jerking off spray-paint him alabaster. Axel snickers, slapping his ass again. "Let's ride!" And begins to thrust. Portly and the other two's positions are quickly filled by others upon others and others and there ain't no rest for the wicked, I guess.

Thrusts come brutal and fast. Then Axel shifts forward, shortening his strokes for speed and depth. Even through a mouthful of cock, Matteo manages to moan. His own cock leaps as his prostate is manhandled. He can't take it anymore, splattering the black table with white and seeing him go off is enough to push the lieutenant over the edge, hosing his slave's insides. They want me to do _this?_ To a _person?_

"What happened to _'I'm a Gunner'?_ " Damon asks quietly, getting my attention. I turn to him, guilty. _Cisco is one too._ He sighs without waiting for the answer. "You have a... Little situation." Then gestures at the tent I'm pitching in my pants. My buddy down there is begging for action like the kind I'm witnessing.

"Come on..." I unzip my pants to fetch my cock from inside and it immediately stands at full mast, in all eight inches of glory. "Go down, dammit." Before I can help myself, Damon's hand closes around my cock. He starts jerking me off, leaning dangerously close. _I should stop him-!_ But a moan escapes my lips instead of a complaint - he's good at this.

"You got this enhanced, didn't you?" Damon murmurs softly, going faster. Well, sometimes Mother Nature needs a few pointers... He can find the answer in my embarrassed silence. "Hey, there's no shame in that." He unzips himself. My eyes widen at his pocket rocket. "I did too." He winks.

Damon guides my hand to his junk. Hesitantly, I begin to stroke him back. He rewards my efforts with a soft moan.

"Faster, Gunner." I don't even know why I'm listening to him but there's just something so convincing in his tone and I feel so _gooood_... Another involuntary moan. And then suddenly, he's kissing me. My first thought is that he's drunk, but I don't taste alcohol on his breath. Our tongues entangle passionately in a hot, sticky kiss staved of oxygen. We part only an inch for air, but he takes a mile, tackling me against the armrest of the couch. His body slides over mine as he steals my lips again. My eyelids flutter shut, submitting to the sensation of his fingers tracing fire over my skin as I drag my own through spiky black hair. Then I feel him grip my ass and it's like he hit a buzzer. I snap back to my senses.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I demand, shoving him backward. I nearly leap off the couch but settle for pressing myself as far back as possible against the armrest.

"What do you mean?" Damon simpers.

"I'm _Rayce Gunner_ ," I remind him in a low hiss, "I don't sub for _anyone._ "

"You have a catchphrase and everything. How cute." he snickers as he fixes his hair, "As someone who's been doing this longer than you, let me give you a tip. Around here, there are masters and there are slaves." Those delicious lips turn devilish. "And sometimes, one turns into the other." My heart pounds in my chest as his meaning slowly dawns on me. This opportunistic asshole-bastard is just trying to enslave the competition. I turn away, more disappointed and mixed up than ever.

The smell of mulberry cigar smoke fills my lungs. Not just any smoke, the kind my brother blends himself. I don't even think Cisco enjoys smoking even though he does it so damn much. Maybe it's his fast-pass to death. I realize, with some embarrassment, that he was watching me and Damon on the couch but now his gaze wanders away, bored, as smoke spills from his lips.

"Hey Commander, don't you want a go?" My erection just took a hike and threw itself in front of a train. I stare in horror at Cisco, trying to will with my mind, 'Don't you do it. Don't you fucking- _don't do it!_ ' He looks as impassive as ever. Silly me. Guy's a prude, psh, I knew that. Didn't get laid enough 'cause he was a little lacking under the belt, know what I mean? He languidly blows a ring of smoke in the air.

"Uncuff him." He says blankly. Relief washes over me; I knew there was _some_ good in that frigid bitch... Matteo is freed, falling face down on the table. "Come here." He scrambles to obey, saluting my brother.

"Commander Gunner," Matteo says, although it's a little hard to look professional with cum running down your leg...

"On your knees." Cisco skips the pleasantries. Matteo drops obediently to his knees while my stomach drops. He looks hesitant as Cisco spreads his legs to unleash... holy fuck, is that a cock or a weapon of mass destruction? When did he get - Is _everyone_ getting an enhancement these days? Just remember, I was doing it before it was cool! Matteo swallows dry.

"Suck me off." Cisco demands simply, taking another slow drag of his cigarette.

"Yes... Commander..." Matteo gets to work like the obedient boy toy he is. He gets his lips around Cisco's junk but there's no question of getting the whole length in.

His brow creases in annoyance at Matteo's fumbling; he reaches forward to grab his hair and forces him to take it. Pumps in halfway the first try, but even Matteo's well-suppressed gag reflex can't take it quietly. He hilts on the second. To the only human with the guts to fight off the vampires, impossible doesn't mean a damn thing.

Cisco takes control, making Matteo bob. Precum falls in sticky rivers from the corners of his mouth, he coughs inwardly but Cisco doesn't let up for a second. He shifts to deepthroat, powering through in short, rapid strokes. He is hilt deep in Matteo when he orgasms. Matteo's eye water; he tries to draw back but Cisco spears him.

"Swallow it."

His adam's apple bobs. Matteo gasps when he pops free. Cisco's shaft is spotless. And _still hard._

"Get in my lap." When he does, Cisco impales him in one swift motion. At least Axel took it slow. A scream rebounds from the ceiling. I'm horrified by what I'm seeing and somehow... unbelievably turned on.

"Ride." Cisco's command is as frigid and direct as his orders on a battlefield. He leans back into his chair, dragging on his cigar as Matteo takes over. Up and down and up and down, his hips are used to it; he knows all the right angles. Between sliding flesh, I notice the girth of Cisco's tool... slicked with blood. He's tearing Matteo apart. I want to jump up and _scream._ But ever since Cisco ordered me to sit down, I've been cemented to this seat. It's one new guy versus every officer worth half a damn in Fade, and my name is only worth anything when Cisco isn't around to overshadow it.

"Faster," Cisco says. He can't have missed the blood on his shaft but it doesn't look like he cares. Matteo picks up the pace, not by a lot, exhausted from the prior abuse. "Not good enough, soldier." He draws the cigar from between his lips to blow smoke in Matteo's face, then lets his eyes roam over the sexy, exposed body in his lap. Finds a hard, straining nipple. And stubs out his cigar on it. I wince at Matteo's cry of agony.

Cisco tosses the burnt out butt to a side and lifts Matteo's shaking form off his dick. It's more red than flesh white. Rivulets of blood trail down the insides of Matteo's thighs. "Worthless." Cisco spits in his face. "Can't even ride cock. What punishment do you think you deserve?"

"I-I'm sorry, Gunner... C-Commander Gunner..." It brings a sour taste to my mouth. I can't stand sharing a name with him right now. Cisco shoves Matteo back to that filthy table and then he motions to the others. They crowd around, picking out oddities from under the table. Snickering fills the air. Matteo is crying again. "S-S-Sorry... I'll try harder next time, just... please..." Cisco props up his ass and reveals the thick purple dildo in his other hand.

"You'll get my dick." He lines the toy up with the red ring that is Matteo's hole. "Once you've earned it." Cries of pain chase me as I whip around to hide from this insanity. _Wet?_ Glance down and my crotch is spattered with my orgasm. Oh God, that set me off? I feel sick to my stomach as if I've had a hand in violating Matteo too. That's it. That's enough!

"Leaving so soon?" Damon asks casually as I stand up. "You know, Gunner, if you can't stomach it, you're gonna end up at the bottom of the food chain. And I'll be right there to snap you up." His dark eyes look downright demonic in this light. I can't believe I ever thought otherwise. I pause. Turn around and lean in close to his face.

"Fuck you."

He smiles. "I look forward to it." As I storm towards the elevator, the obscene sounds of whirring vibrators mixed with screaming and crying and a chorus of evil laughter echoes after me. Cisco... _I thought we were here to fight monsters, not become them._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do consider this chapter a bit of a litmus test. I'm not interested in traumatizing anyone! 
> 
> Oh wow, you're still here? Cool, let's keep going!


	3. Guardian of the Sluts

What the actual fuck did I just _witness?_ Every horrible memory that comes back to me ties another knot in my guts until there's no way I'm getting any kind of sleep today. Or eating for the next three days, for that matter. Turkey's on the blacklist for at least three _years_ . I stare up at the ceiling, but I don't even really see it as my overclocked brain plays a twisted slideshow in its place: Matteo turning slowly in his slave gear, Axel violating him, the dull look in his eyes, the apathetic one in Cisco's, my brother bent over the smaller man on the table - _shouting_ at him - as the elevator doors mercifully closed.

So I'm wide awake, alert to even the tiniest whisper of the door moving aside.

"Matteo," I gasp as I sit bolt upright. He doesn't respond. He didn't even bother with his trenchcoat, clad only in ripped lingerie now. The fake wings sit askew on his back as a black feather floats to the floor. Swaying on his feet with his head hung low, he looks like a strangely sexy zombie in the doorway. "Matteo?" I repeat myself, my voice almost breaking. He topples over into the room. " _Matteo!_ " It's amazing how different one person's name can sound three different ways.

I'm at his side in a second, gathering up the fallen angel in my arms. His head lolls weakly into my lap, as if seeking warmth.

"No, no, no, no," I realize I am saying the word over and over again under my breath. There's so much blood between his legs that it looks he sat on a bench freshly painted red. And rolled around on it just for kicks. My skin crawls with an instinctive need to just _clean him._ Yeah... Yeah, I can do that. I lift him up in my arms and dash from the room.

Showers! Showers, that's perfect... The thin curtains in the communal showers shift eerily in the darkness, like curtains in an operating room hiding bloody, misshapen horrors. Matteo is about to become one of them, depending on how this goes. Depending on what _I_ do.

The water from the shower hits my clothes, soaking them through almost instantly. Too cold - too _hot_ \- too cold again and finally tolerable as I clumsily jimmy the knobs. Only then do I gently introduce Matteo to the spray, washing away the blood. If I can't _see_ the damage, it's not there, right? The water gurgles, running red down the drain like it's fucking shark week. I was looking for any reason to put my hands on him before, and now I'm afraid to even touch him because I might just hurt him more. _Man up, Gunner._ I steel myself. Sliding my hand between his cheeks, I inspect his entrance and cringe at what I find. This is just a wound fucked raw.

I make sure to lube my hands up vigorously with soap before gingerly easing a finger inside. Then a second one for good measure. _Movement._ Oh shit, he's waking up. Matteo comes around slowly, his sapphire eyes distant. Then they sharpen when he realizes what's going on. Well sure, I guess it can be a _little_ alarming to find unwelcome fingers up your ass. His mouth drops open. I freeze. Then he screams.

"Matteo, it's not what it looks like!" I pull out but he's still screaming like a man being murdered, pushing, beating his fists on my chest. Someone is going to find us! And then someone does. My heart leaps in my chest when I hear a shout:

"What's going on in here?!"

"HELP! Help me! Rape! RAPE! RAPE!" Matteo shrieks. Wow, with lungs like that, who needs a rape whistle?

"Ssssh, _shut up!_ I'm trying to help you!" I'm desperately trying to keep him quiet, pinning him against the shower wall with my body as I clamp a hand over his mouth. Muffled shrieks escape the seal of my fingers anyway. He settles for clawing at my back like a trapped animal. I know it's all pointless when I hear the shower curtain being ripped right off its rings. Turning halfway, I catch a glimpse of charcoal grey eyes and then an incoming fist.

I throw myself out of the way just in time, releasing Matteo in the same movement. Unable to support himself on weakened legs, he crumples into a corner as I sink into the opposite one. Heart pounding, my eyes are fixed on the space between us where my would-be-assailant's fist is buried a good few inches in the bathroom tile. That was a one-hit knockout. Or, you know, probably _death_. As the man dislodges from the wall, chunks of broken tile and plaster hit the wet floor.

He has a rigorously disciplined body like the MMA fighters I saw on TV the last time I binge-watched UFC in my briefs. His muscles contrast oddly with his wavy orange hair tied high in a perky ponytail. Washboard abs peek through an unzipped green bomber jacket, but I only get to ogle them for a second before he crouches over Matteo.

"Matteo! Are you okay?" he asks in a voice a lot softer and more concerned than his unforgiving body would suggest.

"Flaere..." Matteo sighs in relief. His thin arms wrap around the martial artist's neck. Hey, hey, _I'm_ the hero here! But I don't say that, swallowing my words instead when Flaere shoots me a dangerous look.

His gentle tone swings so easily in the other direction. "Should I deal with him?"

"I didn't hurt him, I was trying to help! You know it's true!" I direct that part at Matteo, who lowers his eyes.

"This is the _military_ ; we have a hospital wing and you decided to drag him into the showers instead?" Flaere looks unconvinced.

"I panicked, okay?"  

He rises ominously, clenching a fist. "Keep panicking." I grip the handle of my baton, and I wish I could say that made me feel better.

"Flaere," Matteo says abruptly, "Let him go. He's telling the truth."

The violent look in Flaere's eyes eases up, and so does my grip on my weapon. Wordless, he scoops up Matteo.

"Let's get you to Dr. Coolidge," he murmurs. He didn't ask me to follow, but he didn't really warn me not to either... I quickly pick myself up and jog after them.

In the infirmary, I make out the dark outlines of medical equipment and stretchers. In the puddle of yellow light cast by a desk lamp, a young man sits up with a snort, blinking sleepily. A piece of paper is stuck to his cheek.

"Patients?" He meets us at the door, at least two heads shorter than me. What is this guy, 15?

"Yeah kiddo, I'm looking for the grown up in charge. Where's the doctor?" I scrutinize the dark corners of the infirmary. In response, the teen reaches out and flips a switch. Fluorescent white light floods the room, making me blink and shade my face with a hand. Only when my eyes adjust do I see the teenager is wearing a lab coat. He seems to be deliberately trying to direct light into my eyes with his shiny name tag.

"Quit it!" I blink against the onslaught. The most adorable giggle immediately draws my attention to his face where I find side-swept hair the color of snow and big, beautiful, almost girlish purple eyes. His tag says 'Coolidge'. _Dr. Coolidge?_ No way. "You're a _doctor?_ " I ask incredulously.

"Dr. Snow Coolidge, on call." He lets go of the tag. "Don't worry, I get that a lot."

"It was the generals again," Flaere interrupts us, gingerly laying Matteo on a stretcher and Dr. Coolidge seems to understand the whole situation right away, his pretty violet eyes widening.

"Leave it to me." He draws the curtain for privacy. I don't know how I feel about letting some kid treat Matteo...

Awkward silence as Flaere and I stand next to each other. I break it so tactfully,

"So... You're like, the guardian of the sluts or something?" I chuckle.

"Yes," he says bluntly.

"...Okay then." Freak. _A hot freak_ , I remind myself as I furtively peruse his goods.

A milky crystal hangs on a silver chain around his neck, resting on his abs. He wears distressed denim shorts that fray off just below his perky ass; they don't even make it past the end of his jacket, so from behind, I can fantasize that he doesn't have anything on from the waist down. Industrial, military green boots with thick rubber soles make his otherwise graceful steps loud and clunky. I notice Flaere noticing me and now he's glaring venomously. _Wait a second..._

"Hey, I know you," I say, trying to grasp that thread of my memory he's tugging on.

"That's impossible." But the way he says it tells me I'm on to something.

"Yeah, I've seen you before..." I step in front of him until he can't turn his neck anymore and has to face me, wearing a worried expression. I snap my fingers. "You're a stripper!" Small world, huh? The mystery unravels easily now.

"No I'm not!" Oh, real convincing. His bright red face gives the game away.

"We had sex at Harm's Way!" I remind him. Ah, Harm's Way... My favorite street in the city: that crooked, poorly-lit, urine-soaked end of the world littered with hypodermics where all the prostitutes hang out, not that that's a coincidence.

"I don't remember that." He looks away, irritated.

"Of course you do." I grin sleazily. "You were so hot."

Suddenly, Flaere's eyes grow round and innocent. A faint flush sets in on his face

"R-Really?" Ooooh, I see how it is. He loves compliments - the kind of guy who pretends not to know how gorgeous he is, then acts all innocent and flustered when he gets one. But really he's just a vain little attention whore like all the rest. One of the advantages of sleeping with everyone is that you learn how to sleep with _anyone_.

"I've been thinking about you ever since that night." Maybe he knows that's an exaggeration, but he doesn't seem to care, reveling in my admiration as I casually slip my hands into both of his back pockets. They rest easily on the curve of his ass.

"Flaere Hunter. Call me Flaere." He leans in close by my face to whisper, lips angled as if to tempt a kiss. He gets one as I touch his lips briefly with mine, just a quick tag. You have to reel these ones in slowly... I think I've succeeded when his mouth twists into a tiny smile. He liked that. I squeeze his ass gently from inside his pockets, and look at that, he doesn't even punch a hole in my face for it. I notice a chair placed against the wall for waiting in. Let's do something a little more exciting with it...

"How about a lap dance?" I dare to suggest, tilting my head at it. I can't believe my luck as his smile widens.

"Sir, yes sir."

I sit down in the chair, barely able to contain my excitement. Flaere stands at a short distance, facing away from me.

"Sorry, I might be a little rusty," he says apologetically, almost shy. That freakin' adorable.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," I sympathize.

"You're so sweet." Abruptly, his jacket falls from his shoulders. I gasp. An elaborate flame tattoo consumes his toned back in rolling red, orange and gold. The flames originate just above his ass, tapering to a point at the nape of his neck, and it might as well be real because it's hot, hot, _hot!_ Flaere spins around, hands planted on his hips, wearing a coy expression. Oh, he's not rusty, not one bit _and he knows it_. As he struts this way, his crystal necklace dances over his chest. He casually steps out of his boots to lighten his stride.

Flaere gyrates his hips in figure eights before the chair, lowering himself all the way to the floor and then rising again with pendulous movements. His tiny shorts are all that's left, but even that's too much. When I reach desperately to correct that, Flaere swats my hand out of the air and tsks at me,

"Naughty, naughty..."

I lay it back on the armrest but my cock leaps forward, straining against my pants. That seems to be the biggest compliment of all as Flaere's face lights up.

"What's that, Gunner?" he asks innocently.

"A huge fan." I grin. Flaere giggles. He spins around and bends over to plant his hands on his knees, his pert ass just _inches_ from my face. My breaths come short and fast. And then he shakes it. I watch it jiggle hypnotically, unable to tear my eyes away. When he tears himself away first, I feel robbed.

Flaere saunters behind my chair. His hands slide over my shoulders, massaging them sensually.

"Feeling good?"

"Oh god _yes_..." I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. I feel every sensation as his hands spill over my chest, tickling my skin with his fingers. It should be against the law to be this big of a tease... When I open my eyes again, I'm staring into the grey of his like deep rock pools.

"Flaere..." His name leaves my mouth in a moan. He winks and comes back around, but he's walking away from me, all the way to the other end of the room. "Where are you going?" I call after him forlornly, not daring to leave the chair.

"Just getting a running start." Wait, what? Suddenly, he's running back this way at full speed - _what the fuck is he doing?!_

"F-Flaere!" He's not listening! The orange-haired stripper lunges forward, striking the floor with his palms as his feet leave the ground, flipping over to complete a dizzying handspring, then a second one, and just when I think he's going to crash right into me, his hands come down to latch on the armrests, holding him steady in a handstand as he curls his spine backwards in the shape of a C like a goddamn circus contortionist. The soles of his feet hover inches over my head while the tattoo on his back dazzles me, but not as much as his bright smile.

"Ta-da!"

I just stare at him in horror, pressed against the backrest of the chair with my knees drawn to my chest. I have to force myself to unfold slowly.

"That was incredible," And _that_ isn't an empty compliment.

"Do it." I know exactly what he means. Flaere stays perfectly poised somehow as I reach around to unbuckle his shorts and slide them off. He grips them with his toes and tosses them away with a flirtatious flick of his endless legs. _Attention whore._ But at least he's good at it! His toes touch down gently on my head as he bends at the knees, spreading enough to give me a glimpse of his tight pucker. I stick my fingers in my mouth first and then Flaere lets out a moan when I sink them inside him, pistoning slowly. Only then does he wobble even a little. His toes curl to grip my hair like an ardent lover's fingers would.

 _Applause._ But not mine. Both of us freeze and turn to the sound with wide eyes. The curtain was pulled aside at some point to reveal Snow leaning against the stretcher, applauding. He isn't even being sarcastic.

"You've still got it, Flaere!" he says as he peels off bloody latex gloves. That's when I catch Matteo's gaze... His I'm-not-angry-just-disappointed gaze... Flaere's expression turns guilty. He uncoils and springs off the chair, landing on his feet again with a cute bob of his ponytail.

"Sorry..." Then he embarks on an awkward shuffle of shame to collect his clothes strewn all around the room.

"You look much better," I say to Matteo.

"You look ridiculous." He winces only a little bit as he eases himself off the stretcher. "Get out of that chair." I don't have to listen to him! So why am I on my feet again...

"Thank you, come again!" Snow chirps as we leave the infirmary together. "But you'd probably prefer not to..."

 

Matteo refuses my help with walking even though he could definitely use it as we make our way back to our room. Stewing in his unfair silence, I feel like a whipped house husband who got caught with his dick in the neighbor's husband and it really doesn't help that Snow loaned him a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants, completing the weird transformation into suburban dad.

"I don't get it," I finally sigh, "You were the one who said you didn't want to make things _awkward_ , then you get mad when I start banging other people?"

"Flaere is my friend!" Matteo bursts out.

"Okay, and?"

"And... And..." His livid eyes dart back and forth as if physically scanning the corridor for reasons to be angry. "You just need to stay away from him." Looks like he didn't find one. But I found out something about him. I can't help but grin a little. Could Matteo be... The _jealous_ type? Oh, there is so much I can do with that information...

"Thank you," he says suddenly, so quietly that I thought I misheard. Before I can respond, Matteo ducks into our room as if he can hide from me in there.

I find him wrapped up tight in his blanket, motionless. Actually, that's a pretty good attempt. I hesitate when Damon's words echo in my ears

_'You're going to end up at the bottom of the food chain.'_

Does that look like an obedient slave to you?

"Hey!" Matteo protests as I whip the blanket off in one swift movement.

"Maybe you didn't hear Lieutenant Axel," I say severely, "But you're my slave now." That one word has the ability to completely flip the atmosphere in here. Matteo goes very quiet, staring at me like I'm going to do something horrible to him. And... maybe I am... He flinches as I climb into bed with him. I draw him close to my chest, arms wrapped around him while my chin comes to rest on top of his head. Silence that I find contented but he finds it nerve-wracking if his squirming is anything to go on.

"What is this?" he finally asks.

"I'm your master, and that means we do whatever I want."

"Rayce..." The sheets rustle. I find blue eyes peering up at me from their folds.

"Try to get some rest." Discipline can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words.


	4. The Emperor Wears No Clothes

I love getting packages. "So this is what a slave contract looks like." I whistle, turning it over in my hands and upside-down. Printed on white card stock, with the gold embossing, filigree and everything, this eternal bondage document looks more like a fancy wedding invitation. Matteo's signature is printed neatly on the line at the bottom, in a refined hand that isn't cursive but doesn't have to be. "And look, it's got your name on it!" I show it to Matteo, who has gone very quiet, as if this stupid piece of paper somehow made his situation worse. No, only _I_ can do that. And I'm starting to get some ideas on how as I root around in the black box that turned up on our doorstep.

"Oh sweet, free swag!" I exclaim, pulling out a flabby pink vibrator with a red ribbon tied around it. How thoughtful. Matteo blushes as I shake it by the base, making it flop all over the place. There's something else in this wonderful box... I pull it out with a gasp. A remote control! First of all, who told Cisco exactly what I wanted for Christmas, and secondly, who told him it was Christmas in May?

Matteo can't hold his tongue, protesting indignantly, "You are not getting that thing anywhere near me!"

"But that's the best part... You don't get a say; you belong to _me._ " I wave the contract at him. I can only keep the slave master persona going in short bursts before I have to stop and drop character, chuckling at how ridiculous all of this is. I'm working on it, okay?

"I'm sorry, but _why_ would you put your name on something like this?" I ask, shaking my head with mirth. "Nah, I get it. I signed something I shouldn't have once... Bought a timeshare in Siberia. At least you'll never fuck up _that_ bad."

"Siberia?" He actually laughs.

Then I bop him playfully on the hip with the rolled-up contract. "Alright, turn that ass around, let's see what we got." There's a sunny glitter to his ocean eyes this time; he's more into it as he turns around.   

Matteo's catches himself with his hands on the side table as I bend him over. He presents his cute ass almost on instant, because he's done this before and I'm trying reaaally hard not to get jealous. Matteo's pants drop to his ankles. I tap the side of my foot against his calf and he understands at once, moving to stand with his legs further apart. I love this; the way he understands my every whim and I don't have to say a single word... Instant _reaction_ like we're perfectly in sync. I squirt some lube just over his ass, watching it trickle into the valley between (see, I'm not completely heartless). He coos softly as I stroke his sensitive pucker, massaging it into his flexible tunnel.

Matteo's ring dilates easily to take the girthy pink thing, moaning as he ignites a fire in my chest. How can anyone be this hot? His hungry pucker devours the whole thing like it was nothing. I balance a finger on the base, holding the vibrator in place as I drink in the view.

Matteo glances over his shoulder at me with those arresting eyes, so innocent on the surface, but there's something so, _so_ dirty swimming in their depths... What was I doing, again?

"Finished, Gunner?" Matteo asks coyly as if he can hear my silly little thoughts loud and clear.

"Y-Yeah..." Who exactly is the slave here?

Matteo pulls his pants back up again, hiding our little secret inside him.

"Lunch?" I suggest as if to snatch back some semblance of control.

The cafeteria line is too long and I'm bored, so I rest my chin on Matteo's shoulder in front of me and grab his hip possessively. I let the naughty remote control in my pocket do the flirting for me. He giggles when I buzz him lightly, toggling it on and off. Leaving it on mid for longer periods make his entire face change. His lips take on the natural shape of an 'O' as if begging for a cock to be holstered in it. His eyes are closed in ecstasy. If I listen closely, I can pick up on his soft panting for air and the faint whirring of the toy just loud enough for me to hear. The high setting elicits a raw moan from the deepest part of his throat. His member throbs with need. I let my hand slip to his crotch and grip it.

"Oh Rayce..." Matteo leans back against my chest, moaning softly.

"Need something?" I ask innocently, fondling him. _Damn_ , he's hard right now.

"I-I want..." His blue-eyes flutter open, nearly dropping me with that lustful gaze. "I _need_..."

"Sausage?" We both face forward abruptly, staring at the cafeteria volunteer. Amazingly, he is holding out a sausage in a pair of tongs, and there's a huge gap in the line in front of us because we simply... Stopped moving. Complaining from behind us:

"Get a room already!" Matteo blushes deeply, disentangling himself from me as I quickly shut off the toy. He looks so cute when he's flustered, rushing forward to pick up food that he isn't even looking at. I can't help myself, I turn the toy up to high just as he's picking up an apple. It flies out of his hand as he yelps and stands straight at attention.

I catch the unidentified fruity object out of the air.

"What a catch, Gunner!" I say, taking a big bite. Matteo slams his tray on the counter and shoots an exasperated look at me. How can I help it that he's fun to mess with?  

I can't believe my luck when Flaere, the orange-haired sex goddess, sets his tray down at our lunch table and sits next to Matteo across from me. I don't know if it's bad or good luck, but I can't believe it either way...

"Are you feeling better, Matteo?" he asks. Matteo sucks on his drink, looking at me coyly. I feel myself breaking out into a cold sweat. He knows he could sic his terrifying friend on me at any minute and he's enjoying the power a little too much. Finally he says,

"Much better, thanks." I resist heaving an obvious sigh of relief.

"That's good." Flaere digs around in the mountain of food on his plate as if looking for treasure. His meal is made up entirely of protein and carbs; he eats like a bodybuilder. "The generals' appetites are getting out of hand," he says, "I'm worried about what they're doing."

"As long as they're doing someone else, who cares..." Matteo mutters under his breath.

"Matteo...." Flaere looks at him with saucer eyes.

"And _what_ do you want me to do?" Matteo snaps. His voice lowers to a hiss. "I can't save every slut in this godforsaken place and neither can you, no matter how hard you train. Can't you just keep your head down like everyone else?" Flaere puts his fork down quietly, casting a forlorn glance at his food.

"You know, you aren't free either," he says.

"Rayce isn't even that bad." Gee, thanks.

"They don't _start_ bad." They're talking like I'm not even here; I look from Matteo to Flaere and back again. I sense history and not the good kind.

Then I _really_ feel out of the loop when I hear cheering from the other side of the cafeteria. Twisting around in my seat, I see soldiers gathered in a group.

"It's starting..." Flaere moans, clapping his hands over his ears in despair.

"What? What's starting?" I demand. I hate not knowing what's going on! Matteo wears a grim expression.

"Every week... Damon holds an 'exhibition'." Damon? The guy from the meeting who tried to enslave me? He could've at least had the decency to wait until the second date...

Burning with curiosity, I push my way to the front of the crowd. No one stays indignant for too long when they see who it is. Matteo follows quietly.

"Thank god it's Friday!" Damon laughs. A slave stands silently beside him in the center of the ring, and _damn_ , does he get all the beautiful ones? Damon's victim has a pinstripe straight curtain of long violet hair that looks so shiny and smooth that I just want to run my hands through it and see if it lives up to the hype. His porcelain body is tightly secured in white leather bondage gear, but he stands straight and unafraid, resting his cuffed hands delicately over his crotch as if to preserve some tiny shred of dignity. Even in the most humiliating situation (and really, does it get much worse than standing in the cafeteria wearing bondage gear?), he has his chin tilted slightly upwards, putting on an air of superiority. He meets the lewd whistles and gestures of the soldiers with defiant, honey-colored eyes.  

Damon grips him roughly by the chin. The slave's lips tugs into a minute snarl at his touch.

"Today, I brought for your entertainment, Jun Aoki," Damon goes on to explain, "He has a bad temperament and he thinks he's too good for everyone else." Damon simpers at him mockingly. "He's bitten at least one cock to the point of needing reattachment, so you'll want to be careful what you put in his mouth." Some of the grins in the crowd fade. Weeding out the weak, if you ask me, I love a sub with a little fire in him. The disobedient ones are always the most fun to smack around. And him... I allow myself a long, indulgent look at that flawless body. He's easy to love.

"Because he's such an awful slut in desperate need of discipline, I'm running a special offer. For one week only, your first hour with him is free," says Damon. Something clicks in my head. Damon is whoring him out, and this is an advertisement. Like... like Matteo? I look at my smaller partner, but he doesn't meet my gaze.  

"And as always," Damon talks like a used slut salesman; even slaps Jun on the back for emphasis, "You get a free demonstration." Jun closes his eyes against the whoops and cheers and takes a deep breath.

Damon goes straight for the beautiful violet hair, twisting it harshly until he gets a reaction out of him: a ragged gasp.

"On your knees, slut!" he barks at him, but forces him down anyway. Damon's cock is out on a moment's notice. At what point do the enhancement specialists take a step back and say, 'okay, no one needs a cock that big, and more importantly, no one's got a hole for it'? He pushes his meat into Jun's face but the purple-haired slave turns away at the last moment, letting it bump his cheek instead. "Oh what?" Damon cock slaps him a couple of times. "You too good to suck a man's cock, rich boy?"

"I have no problem with men," Jun says in a controlled voice, "It's _dogs_ I don't like." Ha! But he pays for his insolence.

Damon actually slaps him this time, sending him sprawling to the tiles.

"Mouthy bitch..." Damon looks annoyed for a split second, but his cocky grin is back in an instant as he unhooks a whip from his belt and snaps it to full length. Jun flinches away as Damon strikes the floor beside him. The next crack of the whip lands across his back. _Finally_ , Damon gets the scream that he was looking for and it makes his devilish grin widen.

"There you are, slut," he mutters. Damon makes the whip coil and sing through the air as if it has a life of its own, and all it knows is _anger_.

"D-Damon..." The whip licks Jun's back over and over again, leaving cruel red welts on his pale skin. He catches a break, struggling to rise on trembling arms as Damon ties a loop into his whip. He comes back with a vengeance, tossing it over Jun's head and tugging sharply to tighten it like a choke chain. This time, Jun has to follow helplessly when Damon pulls him along, crawling on all fours like a show pony. He keeps his head down, hiding his face behind his hair dragging on the floor.

Damon brings his boot down on the link between Jun's handcuffs, pinning his hands uselessly to the floor.

"My shoe is dirty. Fix that." Jun hesitates. "I'm _waiting_ ," Damon reminds him. There's a threat in his tone; the promise of more violence. Jun's tongue snakes out, trembling. He shudders as it touches the toe of Damon's boot, drawing back rapidly in disgust. Damon has to tug painfully on his leash a few more times before Jun finally submits to licking it. He closes his eyes helplessly, trying not to look as he drags his tongue over the filthy boot. "That's better," Damon grins down at him. "Not so stuck up now, huh bitch?"   

Anger flashes in Jun's brown eyes. He tugs sharply on his cuffs, throwing Damon off balance. Okay. He's got a _lot_ of fire. I grin as the master hits the floor hard, already flipping over to glare furiously at his disobedient slave.

"You're gonna regret that," Damon snarls. My grin fades just as fast when he tightens the whip, choking Jun. The violet-haired rebel claws at his throat desperately. His eyelids flutter shut. I'm all for erotic asphyxiation, but the enraged look in Damon's eyes says _'death'_.

"Let him go!" I step forward, ignoring Matteo's discouraging grip on my sleeve. Damon's eyes flash at me, dangerous.

" _Don't_ tell me what to do with my slaves."

"You're gonna kill him at this rate!" I draw my baton threateningly. I'm not going to stand here and watch him murder this guy in cold blood, just because he signed some shitty piece of paper!

"I said _back off!_ " Damon twists his wrist and the whip uncoils from around Jun's neck like magic. He might be a monster, but you have to give him credit for being _really fucking good at it_. He brings it up to strike a warning against the floor before my feet. I stop in my tracks but I grip my weapon tighter.

Jun props himself up weakly on the floor.

"R-Rayce Gunner?" His eyes widen slightly. And then they're full of tears. "Please _help me._ " My blood runs cold. "He's terrible. He'll kill me..." Tears and babbled words spill out of him desperately. "Only you can save me..." he begs, folding his hands together.

"Alright, that's enough out of you," Damon growls. He digs his fingers deep into Jun's hair to wrench him painfully to his feet again, drawing out a small scream. Jun sways lightly now, weakened but still determined to stand tall. Damon can't even let him have that, shoving him into the arms of lascivious soldiers who were somehow convinced by the demonstration that he'd be a good fuck. Jun casts a pleading glance at me over his shoulder before they turn the corner out of sight.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I turn angrily to Damon as the crowd disperses. "I don't think you understand how kink works; just because you're the master, doesn't mean you can treat your subs like literal _garbage_."

" _Slaves._ Not subs. I don't think you understand how this _place_ works." He doesn't even look at me, winding the whip around his hand.

"You're a maniac with no self control," I hiss. He lets out an abrupt laugh.

"Thanks, I try. This isn't about sex, Gunner." He clips the whip to his belt. "It's about survival. And you're not going to make it if you keep treating your slave like your boyfriend." He nods at Matteo. "And ruining all my hard work, I might add..." Matteo lowers his gaze nervously.

"Weren't you the one who said, 'don't tell me how to treat my slaves?'" I fold my arms.

"I'm not telling you anything. Honestly, I couldn't care less. Just one more pain in the ass, loudmouth bitch that I'm eventually going to have to train..." Damon walks by me, passive-aggressively knocking shoulders with me on the way past. "By the way, did you enjoy the toy I sent you? It was Matteo's favorite back in my harem." My jaw drops.

" _You_ sent it?"

He doesn't answer, more interested in Flaere at our table trying desperately to coax the floor into swallowing him.

"Flaere!" Damon grins. " _You're_ always welcome to my harem..." And it's ridiculous. Flaere looks like he could put Damon in a full body cast in the time it would take for him to unroll his whip, so why does he look so _terrified_ of him? Flaere looks away quickly. Damon just laughs and leaves the cafeteria, gone as quickly as he came like a traveling demon salesman, trading good times for souls.

"Who _was_ that guy?"

"You mean you don't know Damon?" Flaere is surprised.

"No, _Jun._ " I love the way his name feels on my tongue.

"Oh." Flaere makes a face. "He's just one of Damon's slaves." That's a lie; he's _anything but_ just another slave. There's something... Royal about him. Something that called out to me. Something _else._ He doesn't belong in chains; he belongs in my arms! Matteo recognizes that expression.  
"Don't tell me you feel _sorry_ for him," he says.

My mouth tilts. "I feel like that isn't an unreasonable reaction..."

"Jun deserves everything he gets," Flaere says darkly. It's bizarre hearing that come out of the so-called guardian's mouth.

"Okaaaayy..." I look between them. So I feel like there's more to unpack there, but neither one bothers to do it for me. "So that's one of _Damon's_ toys in your ass right now?" I ask instead, turning to Matteo.

"Yeah, so? Wait, what are you doing- Rayce, I am not taking off my pants in the middle of the cafeteria!"

 

###

 

Jun's wet brown eyes haunt me everywhere I go. I sigh heavily, watching Matteo run his drills. He trips, crashing into three sets of hurdles, then slips in a mud slick, having to impromptu mud-wrestle the soldier he fell on. Okay - that's pretty funny. It makes me smile a little bit. Then he slides right off the rock-climbing wall, fingernails dragging, and lands on the dusty ground as soldiers hop over him. Matteo groans as he lifts an arm to shield his face in embarrassment, all because I have access to a little (well okay, a _big_ ) buzzing thing in his ass.

General Weiser moves to stand over him, hands on his hips as he looks down at him.

"Not your best work, Lorenze," he says sternly.

"I'm sorry, sir..." he mutters, looking away.

"Five laps! On the double!" he orders sharply. "The rest of you lot, hit the showers!" Matteo groans and sets off running.

The showers are a lot less creepy during waking hours when I'm not being stalked through the stalls by a dangerous martial artist... Soldiers wearing nothing but towels around their waists walk in and out of a pleasant haze of steam, talking, laughing and drying their hair. I shove my sweaty clothes in a locker - eh, I'll wash 'em later.

I toss my towel over my shoulder. No need for decency; honestly, what've I got that no one else has (aside from maybe, a _huge_ cock)? Besides, any publicity is good publicity! Unless that publicity going around is actually pubic lice, in which case you might want to cover up.

"Gunner!" Oh great. I have to tolerate looking at Damon's cocky face as he moves to block my way, standing in front of me. He wears a towel around his hips, leaving his toned chest on full display. You know, he'd be a lot easier to hate if he wasn't so hot... I can't help but explore the smooth dips and curves of his abs with my eyes. Then I'm immediately uncomfortable again when I see him taking a similar tour of my crotch, amused.

"Come on, you're not giving my imagination much to do." He licks his lips. I take back that thing I said about publicity!   

"Open your mouth and I'll let you taste it," I say sarcastically, but I snap my towel over it anyway. "What the hell do you want?" .

"Some of the other boys and I are arranging a game of poker. You interested?"

"What's the catch? Strip poker? Loser gives the winner a blowjob?" I don't trust this glorified pimp and his toothy grins one bit.

"Come on, Gunner, it's just a friendly game of cards. I have normal hobbies too, you know."

"Yeah, somehow I doubt that." I fold my arms, unconvinced.

"Tonight at the cafeteria. Be there." He taps my bare chest with the back of his hand and walks past me. I glare at his receding form. Then someone taps on my back. I turn around to see a cock flying at my face.

"Hey, you're back!" I burst out laughing, juggling the pink vibrator a few times before catching it.

"You prick!" Matteo is all red in the face and dripping with sweat from his extra laps.

Before I can quite recover, Matteo starts to take his clothes off. Technically, I'm even more naked than him right now so I dunno why I'm so hot and bothered by this. He teases off his shirt first, the impression of his open mouth pressed into the black cloth. I blush. A perfect 'O'. He tosses it to the bench behind him with a knowing grin. That's evil; is this some kind of payback? My eyes run over his toned chest, his lean abs... The sound of metal clinking to the ground draws my attention further down, where he's already disposed of his belt.

"You've got to stop staring at me, Rayce." He eases off his pants. A desperate glance at his face but, thank God, his expression tells me he's kidding. Matteo drops his cement-colored briefs. I swallow hard, my eyes fixed on his crotch. There's a furnace where my own should be. Satisfied with my expression, he grabs my hand and pulls me along, laughing. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out a horny man.

Matteo drags me into a shower stall; I pull the curtain shut behind us as he turns the water on. My body is a sucker for this guy. I'm hard before I can count to three. But I'm not going down on him without a fight!

Drawing him into a tight embrace, I assault his lips, grinning through the make out as I feel him harden up against me. Kissing turns him on. I break off abruptly, leaving him gasping like a drowning man for air. Push him up against the tiles and this picture looks so right - him naked, wide-eyed, staring lustfully through gaps between his wet black hair. Why yes, my life _is_ incredible, thank you for asking!

"You're such a cocktease..." I sigh, shaking my head. He only giggles. Shameless. Or bored. No one even dares to _make eye contact_ with him anymore. They've seen us in the cafeteria and me grabbing his ass in the halls. They averted their eyes when I caught them looking. I watched his steps grow lighter and more confident. His smiles grow almost arrogant. He doesn't flinch when ex-clients pass him by. After all, Matteo is unofficially-officially Gunner's boy and _no one_ touches Gunner's boy.

But I haven't had him yet. I mean sure, I've put things up where they don't belong (debatable), but I haven't plunged into his depths and really _taken_ him yet. I think we both know that that has to change. I drop a hand to his nipple, rolling the cherry nub between my fingers. He gasps, grabbing the other one to help me out. My other hand goes to his shaft. If he's my kryptonite, them I'm his too! He flies full mast almost instantaneously.

"Rayyyyce...." He moans aloud as he pulls on a nipple. "Don't leave me hanging..."

"Your wish," He lets out a little cry of excitement as I turn him around. "Is my command!" I chuckle. He puts his hands on the wall and eagerly presents his backside, waving it around a little. "Stop being cute!" I scold him jokingly, slapping his bouncy ass with my cock. I sandwich my meat between his ass cheeks, sawing back and forth. Reaching forward with one hand, I stick three fingers in his mouth, pumping in and out gently. He sucks on them obediently as he rocks against my dick. Once they're soaked with his spit, I give my tool a rest, spreading him. He wiggles in anticipation. I sink a wet finger into his hole. Matteo's ass clenches sensually around it. He's sensitive as hell! Somewhere in between pistoning the first finger, I slip in another. The third is met with slightly more resistance; I have to slow my thrusts so I don't hurt him. His brow is furrowed, but his panting is all the evidence I need of how hot he's getting. I can see his cock drooling pre into the drain and tease,

"What?" I pick up the pace, leaving his anal ring contracting helplessly. "Are you going to cum already? This really the same Matteo?" He blushes crimson at the jibe.

"Quit it!" He gets a naughty look in his eyes and drops to his knees, taking my joystick in his hand. He begins to pump me for cum, toying with his own nipple to push my buttons. He makes the sluttiest face he can muster up, looking up at me with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out as if to catch my climax.

"Oh god..." I moan.

"What's the matter, Rayce? Are you going to cum already?" He doesn't wait for my answer as he takes me in his mouth.

I close my eyes, intensifying the sensations below as Matteo bobs on me like a two dollar slut. Twisting the shower knob, I make it hotter in here as I cast a loud moan at the ceiling. _So warm..._ He's amazing. I find his hair and dig my fingers in it, running them through long, wet strands. My mind races to thoughts I can barely makes sense of before they flit away again: naughty, sexy snippets of partners before him and partners I wish I could have. Partners with endless, silky violet hair that spills over generous hips... The distressed aristocrat on the floor begging for a hero. I wonder what his pretty mouth would look like on my cock, with those almond eyes looking up at me... That pushed me over - I feel my climax coming slowly at first and then it crashes into me like a steaming hot tidal wave. I cry out in ecstasy,

" _J_ _un!_ "

Then there's just stinging pain. I realize: 1. Matteo slapped me. 2. What I said. In that order. But that's nothing compared to the furious expression on Matteo's face.

"What did you say?"

"M-Matteo, I-"

" _What did you say?!_ "

"I'm sorry!"

"You were fantasizing about him, weren't you? About _Jun?!_ " I fumble as he throws a bar of soap at me, then drop it to dodge the second one.

"Hey, I was fantasizing about a lot of people!" I say as if that was somehow a better answer.

"You're such an asshole!" He tries to dash from the shower, but his anger catches like wildfire. I grab him roughly by the black hair.

"Let go of me!" he shrieks, struggling as I drag him back into the shower.

I pin him back against the tile by the lips, making out rough and passionate as he tears at my scalp. Our tongues wrestle - he cheats when he bites down. _Hard_.

"You little bitch-" I snarl, picking the smaller man right up by the thighs and rubbing on him against the wall with every intention of forcing myself in. I'm already at full mast again, hopped up on adrenaline and testosterone.

"Don't _touch_ me!" he just keeps _screaming_ with those endless lungs, beating his fists on my chest. Then he latches on with surprisingly sharp nails and slashes me. The sudden pain and the sight of bright red disorient me.

" _Goddammit!_ " I gasp, dropping him as I stagger backwards. Matteo lands on all fours and pushes off the floor running, gone in an instant. Okay, I think I'm gonna... let him go this time and just sit down for a sec... Sliding down against the shower wall, I catch my breath. The only sounds are the cheerful patter of the shower and my own gasping for air. So intense and so fast; did it even really happen? The set of parallel gashes Matteo left on my chest is proof enough, weeping red. It looks worse than it actually is: shallow cuts just deep enough to draw blood. I spot a clump of crimson red hair on the wet floor. _My_ hair. He literally tore it out in his rage, that crazy psycho bitch. _He's so fucking hot..._

 

###

 

 _Yeeeees!_ I smile down at my winnings as I gather them off the cafeteria table. Okay, so I went to Damon's card game, alright? It's not my fault that I'm really, _really_ good at it. If you think about it, it'd be stupid _not_ to go. As an added bonus, most of this money is Damon's - probably dirty pimp money but cash is cash... Who would have thought a sinner like him would suck at poker?

"Well, gentlemen, I'd love to stay, but I don't think you could afford it!" I let out a bark of laughter.

"Gunner, where are you going?" I stop in mid-rise, glancing at Damon questioningly. "We were just about to raise the stakes." he says.  

"What stakes? We're on the government salaries of a dying race." I smirk. All of a sudden, they just look hugely amused and I feel like an ignorant kid trying to understand a dirty joke. Insinuating snickers all around the room. My smile drops. Oh. Sex.

Damon holds up a stiff piece of paper that I recognize immediately as a slave contract.  

"We're playing to win slaves. You in?"

"I knew you couldn't be normal for one evening." I roll my eyes. Damon shrugs irreverently.

"Fine, leave then, I'm not going to force you. I just didn't want you to miss out..." He casually flips over the contract, deliberately angled so I can read the name on it. I freeze in my tracks, lost in the elegant loops of Jun's fancy signature. When I find Damon's eyes again, he's looking at me with a wicked little grin. He knows he has me right where he wants me. Damon places the contract on the table: the tantalizing promise of a chance at Jun... I could be his hero. Swoop in and rescue him from this demon, then take him all night like a conquest.

"So, think you can afford the table minimum, Gunner?" he asks. Suddenly, Matteo's contract tucked into my jacket weighs a hundred pounds, as if the psycho bitch himself is trying to keep me from gambling with his life. But I manage to wrestle it free, staring at the crisp white paper. It glows like a halo in the darkness, trapping me in a divine moment of clarity. _Am I really going to do this?_

Oh come on, I already know the answer to that. I slam Matteo's contract down on the table.

"Let's play."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kassiopeia's guide to things you shouldn't do:  
> 1\. Buy a timeshare  
> 2\. Drunk Amazon shopping  
> 3\. Oh and sign a slave contract, probably


	5. The House Always Wins

I ignore the demonic grin on Damon's face and the sinking feeling it's giving me when the dealer pushes a stack of ten black chips towards me. Each chip is emblazoned with a golden number '6'. No other denominations. A glance around reveals each player has a different number _on_ the chips and their own number _of_ chips. What kind of bullshit is this...

"I don't get it," I say bluntly.

"You're not the only new player at the table." The dealer gestures to a well built guy a few seats over. His short brown hair comes to a soft peak that's so handsome, it just kind of makes you want to smush it so he'll run his fingers through his hair to correct it. "So is Trent." I give Trent a two-fingered salute, but he barely acknowledges it. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. I'm just an idiot, what's his reason?

"For the benefit of the newbies, I'll explain the rules again. The card game is still poker." Well that's all I need to know then, I'm gonna win all these weird chips too. "But the betting system is different. Each slave contract is represented by 10 chips." The golden numbers gleam ominously against the stark white of the contract. "And each chip is worth one sexual favor from the slave on the contract."

" _What?_ " I cut in, "You're telling me if I lose even _one_ of these chips, Matteo has to blow some random jackass?"

"If that's all he has to do, he should consider himself lucky..."

"I knew I'd find you here!" Speak of the devil. I turn - and so does everyone else  - to see Matteo approach the table. He folds his arms. "So this is what you think of me? _Gambling money?_ "

"Do we really have to do this right now?" I feel like I'm talking to a naggy, insecure boyfriend instead of a slave.

"You don't even want me anyway, so why don't you just go ahead and do it!"

"Maybe I will, then!"

"Fine!"

" _Fine!_ "

"This is going really well." Damon snorts with laughter. I sink into my seat as the others join in. You know what that sound is? Me losing power because Matteo is acting like a spoiled brat instead of a well-behaved pet. And I can't let that happen. "Unless..." A wicked little grin curls Damon's thin lips. "The great Sergeant Rayce Gunner, brother of the commander is in _love_ with a slave?" At his suggestion, the entire room bursts out into laughter while my face goes red hot. What the fuck is this, middle school?

"That's ridiculous!" I erupt first and think later, glancing at Matteo. He looks hurt, turning away as his feather earring swings by his face. _We're not in love._ So fine. He can have it his way. And the me that makes all my bad decisions comes out to play.

"I'm not afraid..." I growl under my breath. "I'll play your stupid game." The cards are dealt, the game begins.

I stare at the little tower of chips by my side. I'm betting someone's body. Betting _Matteo's_ body. I hesitate only a little before I toss a little black chip into the pot, and all of a sudden, Matteo is public property. Damon smiles furtively at it, raising his mysterious gaze to mine as if I've just played right into his hands. Now that the anger has cooled off a little, that sinking feeling takes its place, but I narrow my eyes at him defiantly. He wants that? Well he'll have to beat _me_ to get it.

"I see your bet and raise you." Chips clatter on the pot.

Remember my uncrackable poker face? Me neither. I think I'm sweating. I think everyone knows I'm sweating. My hand is good... Not good enough? A glance to the horrible black chips. Can I really afford to top that bet? _Do I want to?_ Damon stares me down and it's like he has heat vision or something.

"Fold." I put my cards down. I bite my lip as I watch him wrap his arms ostentatiously around the pot and drag it towards himself. Matteo's chip glints tauntingly before they disappear into his stacks. _I'll win it back._ Yep, no problem, I'll win it back!

Matteo isn't the only one on offer... As I look around the table I see some of the other slaves at stake. They run the gamut from gorgeous and leggy to short and cute, porcelain faces and smoky skin, long hair that tumbles over shoulders and sexy sculpted dos that accentuate strong features: all sorts of men surround the table. Ugh, this should be _my_ kinda game, but I can't enjoy it at all, because I'm about to lose Matteo to a bunch of sexual predators. Jun is notably absent, probably languishing in some filthy, cum-stained room servicing perverts, when the only pervert he should be servicing is _me_.  

The only other person who seems to care whose bed their slave ends up in is Trent, the other newbie. And maybe there's a connection there, because we're both doing terribly. It's not money, it's Matteo! And that's why I'm too easy to read, why I'm freaking out and it shows. I know I can't call bluffs and I can't play 'em. This is going nowhere, _fast_.

Trent's slave, a gorgeous guy with soft, curly blonde hair and green eyes, whispers in his ear. He nods but he's looking down in despair at the little puddle of chips he has left. My own isn't doing so well. All I've got really is half the stack. The rest is scattered around in the possession of the other players. I notice some of the guys shooting Matteo meaningful looks. My imagination is _waaaay_ ahead of them, torturing me with lewd images of Matteo entangled in compromising positions... Something dark and angry starts to brew in the pit of my stomach and I don't think it's the alcohol. Plot twist: maybe _I'm_ the jealous one? Matteo doesn't let it show but I know he's starting to regret all the dumb rash things we said and did too.

Holy crap.

I have nothing left. And all it took was one hour to get here. A single black chip emblazoned in gold lies on the table in front of me. Okay, so I have some other random chips but who the hell cares about those? A shout sends my nerves over the edge. It came from Trent. His pet stands behind him, motionless, his green eyes wide. I trace his gaze to Damon who is scooping up the pot a-fucking-gain. Of course, he turned into the god of poker when it was convenient! He casually makes out a column of ten.

"A full set." Damon grins maliciously. Fuck, what does that mean? _What does that mean?_

Trent says something unintelligible but the blonde slowly picks up his own contract and walks in an almost trancelike state to Damon's side of the table.

"You're mine, Finn..." says Damon, slinging an arm around the small blonde's waist. Finn whimpers slightly as Damon slaps his ass. Trent hangs his head, burying his face in his hands. He stays like that for what seems like forever, then just gets up and leaves the table. Left his chips behind too. Finn watches him go forlornly. Why does this all feel like an omen?

Matteo abruptly grabs my shoulder during the distraction and kneels by my side with knuckles white and shaking: that old terror from the general's meeting.

"Rayce, I'm begging you... Don't lose. _Just don't fucking lose!_ " That terror quickly conjugates to me.

"I-I-"

"What's the matter, Gunner?" Damon interrupts. Fuck. _Get it together, Rayce!_ Alright, it's time to be smart, because being a moron hasn't exactly helped so far. I pull myself together for one last, stupid bluff. Damon has a pattern. He's hunting Matteo down, and plays all the rounds with his chips in it. Then he hoards them like a jealous dragon, buffering with other contracts... Finn was a nice bonus, but Matteo is obviously the prize he's after. I have one of his chips left. I'll use it to bait the rest back to me!

It takes a while to find a pot that I like. If I win this, I'll have a healthy half of my chips back. I have a crap hand. High card nine. But I throw in the single black chip I have left. They know what that means to me. The others fall for it and fold. A tiny victorious smirk - but it dies when I look Damon in the eye...

His amused face tells the tale. He can see right through me.

"I'll match you." _Fuck._ My bluff is hideously exposed in the random assortment of nothingness with which I dared try to pull a win.

Damon's eyes light up as he collects the pot.

"Don't you feel ashamed losing Matteo on a hand like _that?_ " Then I realize something... Looking around, I don't see any other '6's. _Oh my God._ Matteo trembles; he's just caught on. Damon languidly makes out another set of ten.

"Sorry, Gunner." He grins. "You lose."

My blood runs cold at his words. Matteo shakes his head, whimpering.

"You can't do this!" The chair screeches against the floor as I rocket to my feet. "You can't..." Begging for mercy, but Damon doesn't know what that means.

"Rules are rules, Rayce." Damon says with a laugh. My heartbeat ramps all the way up as Matteo walks over to Damon's side of the table. He lowers his face. One thing. He asked me to do one fucking thing. And I went and lost him to a psycho.

I play a desperate game after that. _One. Just one!_ But Damon is shockingly tightfisted. Yeah, he knows not to gamble away a good thing. Unlike _some_ people. Damon spends the tail end of his endeavors undressing the slaves around the table with his eyes and casually collecting sexual favors like he's ordering off a fucking catalogue. I keep seeing chips with the number '7' getting tossed into the pot, sometimes as soon as they've been won. He must be a real ugly duckling - I turn to look but nope, 7 is a total stud. He has tight cerulean blue waves of hair all down his back and steamy mocha skin. His venomous yellow eyes are striking as they dart over the table.

The ashtrays are piled high and the glasses run low; this poker game has burned itself out. The players seem to be jettisoning all their unwanted chips, and that means lots of 7s. 7 shifts his weight to one leg, noticing he's going to be spending a good deal of time with the winner of the next pot. Damon takes a look at me and coyly pushes in an entire set. My heart gives a jolt. Matteo's set, '6'! He must have a _really_ good hand if he's willing to bet like that just to mess with me. The others fold nervously, and looking at my hand, that's what I should be doing too. But I have an ace up my sleeve. And I don't mean that metaphorically.

"Full house." Damon throws his cards down with a victorious grin. In my excitement, I leap up on my feet and slam my cards down.

"Straight flush, bitch!" He stares, shocked. The chips clatter against each other as I drag the pot towards myself, _giddy_ . I did it! I really did it! I- I... Wait a second... I pick up one of the chips of the full set. This isn't a 6. It's a 9. When I look up, I find Damon grinning like the Cheshire cat. He played me. Again. A cold feeling grips my stomach as I meet Matteo's eyes for the briefest of moments. They've gone dull again. _It's over._

This isn't fun anymore. The players and slaves scatter as I kick the table towards Damon. His back hits the wall, pinned until he draws a silver sword from who-knows-where and splits the table down the middle. I draw my baton, ready as the two halves fall apart.

"You tricked me," I hiss.

"You make it too easy!" Damon laughs, spinning his sword by the handle as we circle each other.

"What are you two doing?!" Matteo shrieks from the sidelines.

"Isn't this every slut's dream?" Damon smirks. "Two masters fighting over him?" He must have hit a button because the core of his sword lights up in red; the metal glows with heat.

"What is that supposed to be, a lightsaber?" I taunt, "Could you get any more pathetic?" He isn't the only one with tricks up his sleeve as I electrify my baton.

"And what's that, a Bug Zapper 9000?" He arches a brow at me.

"You _don't_ talk about my baby that way." I growl, charging in.

Damon meets my fury with composure, blocking every strike. I hate to admit it, but he's no pushover. He almost looks like he's recording my movements with his dark eyes; learning them by heart. Suddenly, I see a shift in them - he lunges. I narrowly avoid the wicked edge of his blade, heart pumping. The follow up is blazing fast. I hear fabric tearing and feel _heat._ Stunned, I look down to see the slit in my shirt, revealing skin. The edges are scorched but he was just short of drawing blood.

"Tch." Damon makes a disappointed sound and I know we're playing to win. Well that's just fine by me. He can't take Matteo if he's dead, right? Extending my baton in a segmented whip, I crack it against the floor.

"You beat your slaves with that and call _me_ a monster?" Damon laughs.

"Actually, I save it for the monsters." He leaps back as the whip licks the tile inches out of reach. Sparks of electricity bounce over the shiny white surface, illuminating his grin as he cuts in on the opening. His boot makes contact with the center of my chest, knocking the breath right out of it. I crash into another table, breaking it as I go down. Groaning, I clutch my head; they really need to invest in better furniture...

"Rayce, watch out!" Matteo yells. My eyes shoot open; I throw myself to a side just in time as Damon plunges his sword into the spot. A sizzling sound follows.

"I think you meant to say, 'get him, Damon'," Damon glares at him, bitter. Searing pain incises my side; 'just in time' was an overstatement. He grazed me, but the heat of his blade cauterized the wound immediately. That might be useful when beheading a vampire, but not if you're trying to bleed out a human opponent.

 _You have to get up-!_ There's no time to feel sorry for myself, stumbling on my feet as Damon wrenches his sword loose from the broken tile. I slow his advance, lashing out with the whip with all my strength. He blocks it, but the impact staggers him. My eyes light up - _now's my chance!_ The whip snakes back around his leg and I tug sharply, pulling him right off balance. And the demon goes down! He cries out as it jolts him with electricity. Then he grits his teeth and tugs back on it, jerking me forward.

I can't stop myself from tumbling on top of Damon, catching myself with a hand on the floor by his head. I freeze, staring into his dark eyes inches from mine. His leg, with my whip wrapped around it, is up on my shoulder like a lover's. My face feels hot, oh wait, that's just his heated sword level with my neck. Damon's lips tweak into a smug little smile.

"See something you like?" he says, and then my face is _really_ hot.

"Bastard," I curse.

The door to the cafeteria slams open. Lieutenant Axel stands in the doorway, furious.

" _What_ is going on here?" When he finds me and Damon on the floor, his mouth twists with confusion as he tries to figure out whether we're about to kill each other or fuck. If he figures it out, I hope he'll let me know! The slaves shrink from his gaze as Axel scans the room, and the masters don't look much more comfortable. "To your rooms. All of you!" he orders. They scramble to obey. Damon and I untangle ourselves.

"Except for you two." Axel's frigid voice halts us both in our tracks. "You're coming with me."

This really is middle school, isn't it? Damon and I squirm in our chairs in Lt. Axel's office. He sits at the edge of his desk like a disappointed guidance counsellor, glaring until it makes my skin crawl. Damon, who was all cock and bravado before, is silent now, staring at a point on the carpet. I lift my chin defiantly to Axel. Damon may be too much of a pussy to speak up, but I'm not.

"What the _fuck_ is going on in this sick hellhole? You're whoring out the soldiers now? Pawning off their bodies at cards? I thought we were fighting a war, not running a dark web sex ring!"

"Cards?" Of all the things to take away from what I just said, Axel chooses _that_. He looks sternly at Damon. "We talked about this. I thought I could trust you not to act out."

"I won Matteo back fair and square." Damon averts his gaze to a different point on the carpet as if the first was too close to the furious lieutenant. "Besides, he won four new contracts; that's _more_ than fair."

"Who?"

"Jun, Sylphos, Flaere and Finn," Damon rattles off a list that's news to me. In my rage, I didn't even tally up my own winnings, but Damon is obviously paying close attention to my career here as a slave master...

"I see..." Axel sighs, kneading his forehead. "You are dismissed." Damon leaves quickly with his head down. I set my mouth in a firm line. He doesn't scare me. Neither of them do.

"You didn't answer my question." I remind the lieutenant. Instead, he turns to his desk. His dark blue hair hangs in a braid down his back. I hear the sound of liquid pouring and then he turns back to me, extending a glass of whiskey, neat. I perk up in spite of myself. Turn down free alcohol? Blasphemy! "What's this for?" I ask, suspicious.

"To congratulate you." Axel clinks his glass against mine. "You turned one contract into four within a week. I hadn't planned to move you ahead in the program so quickly."

"Yep, that's me..." I take a sip, lounging in my chair. "An overachiever..." If my teachers are dead yet, they must be spinning in their graves.

"Now, as for your question." Axel takes a slow sip of his drink. "I believe Commander Gunner already told you this, but it's not your job to worry about the big picture. I can, however, assure you that there is one." Great, more smoke and mirrors, that really makes me feel better. "Your brother is the only reason you're here. Many of us weren't even aware that the commander _had_ a brother."

"Cisco and I don't talk much these days... He's kinda leading the _army_ ," I say quickly.

"I'm sure, I'm sure." He chuckles. "It isn't as if he was _hiding_ you, after all!" Dark, unreadable eyes hold my gaze. "Ridiculous, of course."

"We have nothing to hide." I reaffirm but the whiskey is starting to taste sour in my mouth.

"Of course. Gunner, I want to show you something." Axel rises from his seat to consult with his bookcase before throwing a photo album on the table in front of me. Solid black leather covers and color coded ribbon bookmarks threaded between the pages.

"Who still has _photo albums?_ " I smirk.

"Call me old-fashioned." Axel's shoulders bob slightly.

"Please tell me there are no baby pictures in here." A faraway sounding chuckle. I run my finger through the ribbons, snag a random one - orange - and pull. The plastic leaflets flutter silently into place as I snap it open. _Oh my Go-_ I feel my lips part around a wordless exclamation just as silent. Eyes darting frantically over the page. Well, this is about as far from baby pictures as it gets.

"I am not sure what you think you know, Rayce Gunner, but let me tell you that you have _no idea_ what you're getting into."

I can't answer as I run my fingers over the smooth plastic, staring in fixated horror at the photographs. _Flaere._ But a side of him I've never known. One that's humiliated and beaten into submission... I've never seen him cry before. But the photographer of these pictures lives for his tears. And the things they made him do...

"Stick with the program and we won't have any problems." Axel is talking and I want to punch him.

"Shut the fuck up!" I forget that he's my superior in my anger. "Not like this... _Never_ like this..."

"That's a shame... Your brother said there was no one better. He called you the toughest dom in Clear." A wicked grin crosses his face. "Oh, please, turn the pages." I'm too afraid to but too curious not to. I flip to the purple bookmark and my fears are only confirmed.

"Jun..." I just can't see the dignified slave like that. The album drops into my lap with a soft thud.  The pictures paint with loving detail, every gruesome moment of the breaking of people I barely know but still desperately want to protect.

I take hold of the red bookmark. I already know what I'm going to find. ...And I was right. A trembling hand placed gently over the photo as if that could ease the agony of the abused subject. The end of this album, but the beginning of everything. _Matteo._     

"A true shame..." Lieutenant Axel repeats. His honeyed tone drips, sickly sweet, into my consciousness. I am vaguely aware that he got up, and is now walking towards me. I want to move - but I... can't? I command my legs to work but they reject the order, leaving me blinking slowly. The glass slips from my grip and hits the carpet with a muffled thud, spilling leftover whiskey as my other hand rests uselessly on the picture. Guarding the prone form of my Matteo from prying eyes. _Fuck._ When you're the one drugging other people's drinks, you don't really stop to consider that the same thing could happen to you...

I hear the clack of the door locking and then soft footsteps approaching from behind.

"But if you won't be a master... Then I have another use for you." _So close -_ His voice mere inches behind me, Axel makes me _extremely_ aware of what that is when he reaches around me to undo my jacket zipper.

I want to scream, to run, _anything_ but my doped body doesn't care what I want. _What did you put in my drink?_ But I'm having a hard time caring about the 'how he drugged me' as the 'why he drugged me' becomes increasingly clear! Axel eases me out of my jacket, leaving me in the scant military green tank top underneath. Layers! I always forget to layer!

Axel lays my jacket out on his desk like the skin of his kill. He places something on the table. _Snap!_ The camera flashes. _Oh God, not that..._ Axel turns around at last. The knife in his hand glints in the light; my blood runs cold.

The fabric of my shirt tears away with treacherous ease as his knife runs up the middle until my chest is exposed to his lustfully darting eyes. The album fell to the ground somewhere in between, lying open to the section on Matteo.

"You are quite the specimen. Like your brother." Axel lays a hand on my chest, darting up to my collarbone before retracing its path to my abdomen. I can't slap it off like I want to when he dips past my navel... slowly... He laughs, pulling away just in time as the camera flashes again. It's on some kind of timer so it doesn't miss a moment of the action, and he hits every mark perfectly. He's had practice. Axel returns for my pants. Panic wells up inside; strong enough to send an involuntary jerk down my leg.

"Impressive." He chuckles as he undoes the zipper. "Most can't manage that." I hear the terrifying rustle of my cargos as he teases them off the beige skin underneath. Axel stares down at my cock lying limp at my crotch. I see his hand move - _don't touch me!_ But even if I could say it, he couldn't care less as he roughly bullies it to attention with quick pumps of the shaft. Oh, _suuuure_ , the one part of my body that still works... _Snap!_ Goes the camera but all I can do is roll my eyes insensibly. _No... No!_

"You know, I'm starting to think I miscast you." Axel says quietly. He looks at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You look good as a slave."

"Cisco..." A miracle that I can get the word out but what the fuck does it matter if no one can hear it? Axel looks down his nose at me.

"Don't you dare call for him, not after all the _embarrassment_ you put him through. Let's see... how does it go? Oh yes: Rayce Gunner, tried in High Court due to the gravity and brutality of the crime. Spent most of his years thence in a maximum security prison, later in solitary confinement for violent behavior, then placed on death row... Only to be rescued by the skin of his teeth through the intervention of his elder brother, Cisco Gunner." He shouldn't know that. Nobody should - _how the hell does he know that?!?_ Violated _._ I-I don't want to think about it. I don't want to remember. I just want to scream, but this _godforsaken drug!_ "All because you committed the foulest crime, the unspeakable sin..." _Please stop talking._ "The murder of a _woman_."

Even if I could, I've lost the drive to resist him. Axel tips my head back, bringing his own so close that I can feel his breath when he says,

"You know, we don't have too many of those left. How did it feel? Was she _beautiful?_ " He takes my lips in an aggressive kiss. I can't reciprocate, but he doesn't want that, hungrily raiding my slack mouth. Gasping for breath, he withdraws just a little bit. His lips still touch mine as he speaks, "She belonged to your brother. Did it drive you mad? Was that what drove you to pick up that pipe wrench..." I feel physically sick. Guilt and drugs make one helluva cocktail.

A tiny, agonized sound slips from my throat as Axel digs into the wound Damon gave me. His fingers tear through the cauterized tissue, sending a shockwave of pain across my torso. The drug was sadistically chosen to paralyze me, while still allowing me to feel every horrible thing he does to me. Warm blood spills down my side. He created an opening large enough to fuck with two fingers, slipping them in and out. I whimper.

"Oh, don't cry out," he commands, "You and this hell deserve each other... But don't worry, I'll help you atone for your sins."   

Axel heaves me from the chair easily, much stronger than he looks. His desk is cold under my cheek as he bends me over it. I feel the sickening heat of his body sliding up against my back to pin one of my wrists to the table top. He slickens my entrance with the slippery blood on his fingers. _He's going to do it-!_ Then he grasps a ruler from his pencil holder.

"I hope you attended enough school to know how long this is." Cruel laughter and then the ruler disappears somewhere behind my field of vision. He won't use his cock ( _heaven forbid_ he does something I might end up enjoying) because he doesn't want to fuck me, just to damage me. I have just about enough strength to close my eyes as the horribly foreign, cold point of the ruler's corner presses against my helpless hole "Take what's coming to you gracefully, Rayce," he suggests. _Please just make it quick..._

Then comes the banging on the door. The weight of Axel's chest against my back is lifted as he rears up in surprise.

"Axel? _Axel!_ You open this door right now or I swear to God I'll break it down!" I would cry with relief if I could! That voice - _General Weiser!_ Axel stands frozen behind me, but it only takes two more door-shaking knocks for him to relent. I slide numbly from the table without his support, folding like a napkin on the floor. _Ouch._ The door opens and there's only the shortest of mortified pauses before Weiser registers the situation.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asks in a low tone.

"Discipline." Axel's curt reply.

" _Discipline._ " Weiser snorts. "Don't talk to me about _discipline_ , boy!" Hands on me again but these ones fill me with an overwhelming sense of safety. Weiser gently wraps his long coat around me; helps me climb to unsteady feet where I crash helplessly into his solid chest anyway. He locks a protective arm around me; I close my eyes in relief. "As if I haven't had to sit back and watch you corrupt this once honorable institution of our country... Used hedonism to turn the generals into puppets, and the men into... Into toys for your amusement! What would the commander say if he knew you what you were doing to his brother?" Axel remains silent for a while before he says,

"Commander Gunner has given me full control of the slave program." The mildly annoyed look on his face tells me his authority has been overruled, just a little bit.

"But Rayce is still a soldier and he answers to _me_ . You want discipline? For God's sake then, get a _haircut!_ " General Weiser growls. With that, he guides me outside, slamming the door behind us.

"Better?" Weiser asks gruffly.

"Yeah..." I manage to say. It took a few minutes but a quick test of my limbs reveals the drug's effects have mostly worn off.

"Good." Weiser punches me; I reel over, clutching the side of my face. I look back at him in surprise. "Now you look at me; you'd better get your act together, Gunner, because nothing here is as it seems..." He looks into my eyes seriously. "Fade chews up good men and spits them out, _changed_. Next time, I may not be able to help you."

"I understand, sir." I stare at my shoes, unable to meet his eyes.

"Get out of here. We didn't see each other today." I nod vaguely, rising to leave.

But I _don't_ understand. All the things I've been hearing, what I saw in that album, what Axel told me... There's something going on here and it runs deeper than random instances of debauchery and gangrape. The weirdest part of all is... Why would Cisco let this go on? My fucking white knight of a brother, _Cisco Gunner_ , who used to insist I text back my one night stands because he didn't like hearing them cry on the phone? I stalk down the corridors in Weiser's trench coat, more confused than ever. That confusion hardens into bitterness when I remember: Damon took Matteo.

 

###

 

The door slides open with a soft hiss. Mellow orange light softens the disgusting room, making it slightly more tolerable to look at, but not by a whole lot. I see upturned furniture and torn curtains swaying hauntingly by the air conditioner. Those who came (in more ways than one...) before me left stray toys and empty bottles lying around in suspicious puddles - I'm kind of glad I can't quite discern the colors. In the center of it all is Jun. He reclines on the bed with his legs apart, daring entry. One arm propped lazily on his knee, he grips a bottle of sake. He swishes the liquid inside and takes a swig, tossing his long purple hair. It cascades regally over the pillows. He doesn't sit like a slave, more like a temporarily disgraced emperor. And suddenly, I feel like a mere peon under his austere gaze.   

"Somehow, I knew you'd come..." His lips lilt in a smile. There's a glint of amusement in his eyes, as if he already knows what I'm about to say. I whip out the contract in front of him.

"I won. I saved you, just like you asked," I say, ready for my reward. He cocks an eyebrow at me and lays back on the sheets, legs opening like a pale blossom.

"My _hero..._ " he breathes. I spring on top of him, unable to hold myself back. He doesn't make a sound as I run my hands over his tormented body, and it feels like a deliberate attempt to spite me. But who the hell cares, because his skin is as smooth as I imagined: _perfect_. I run my hands up his torso, toying with his nip. Jun abruptly grabs me by the collar and wrenches me close to his face. My eyes close for a kiss. I hear him whisper instead,

"Your princess is in another fucking castle." He braces a foot against my chest and kicks me off. Sitting there, shocked, I watch Jun climb off the bed, laughing hysterically. He pauses only to take another gulp of alcohol. A soldier steps through the door.

"Hey, can I get my free-AUUUGH!" he cuts himself off with a scream when Jun whips out a pistol and shoots him in the foot. Jun stumbles from the room and walks free, his laughter cut with the sound of the soldier's screams. I stare at the spot long after he's gone, incredulous. Did he just play me? Did that slut just try to play _Rayce fucking Gunner?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOADZONED


	6. The Taking of Seraphim

This room is fucking depressing. I mean, it was always depressing but without Matteo in it, it also makes me  _ angry.  _ All his possessions, every trace of his presence has just been erased. I stare at the neatly made bed across the room from mine which looks just like one of those soulless beds in the motel rooms we stayed at when Father took Cisco and I traveling. Not vacationing. Just traveling. A dozen republics and a hundred motels and somehow, they all looked the same. I was young enough to believe they were fancy anyway.

I'm making the same old mistakes. I thought Jun was premium and he turned out to be a cheap knock-off too. No mints on the pillowcase here, no sir. All I have to show for the whole ordeal is a useless stack of contracts on the bed next to me. Sure  _ that  _ ought to keep me warm at night. Dark feelings bubble in the pit of my stomach. I'm hungry. But it isn't a normal hunger: it's the kind that wants revenge.   

There's a knock on the door: wow, does everyone in this godforsaken place have a death wish? I throw it open, yelling,

" _ What?! _ " My small visitor flinches. Curly blonde hair, green eyes. A sprinkling of freckles over his nose: I recognize him. It's the guy from the poker game... Finn, wasn't it? The larger form of Trent looms behind him, resting a large hand on his shoulder, almost like a puppetmaster. "What do you guys want?" I narrow my eyes at them. 

"Y-You kind of won my contract," Finn says timidly. Oh right... I think back to how devastated this poor schmuck looked when he lost his precious little boyfriend and hey, maybe I could just not be an asshole and return it.

"We want it back," Trent adds sternly. Ah well, fuck that then.

"Oh, so you think you can just come here and intimidate me and you'll get his contract back? Who do you think you're dealing with?" I answer my own question in his indignant silence, "I'm Sergeant Rayce Gunner, the commander's brother. And you know what?" I let my eyes run over Trent's tasty boy toy. "As my new slave, Finn is moving in with me." Digging a hand into his curls, I rip Finn from his boyfriend's grip and thrust him backward into the darkness of my room. 

"Trent!" he squeals. 

"Finn!" Cue the melodramatic background music. Aww, isn't this  _ touching? _ Trent gives a start but I block him in the doorway, slamming my palm against the frame. 

"What are you going to do about it?" I taunt. My baton is in my hand in a second, the tip pressed threateningly into Trent's chest. "What are you going to  _ fucking _ do about it?" I dare him. There's a dangerous look in his handsome eyes and he looks like he might just show me. I smirk. 

"Just remember," I say, "Whatever you try, I'll do to your boy ten times worse." That disarms him. The desperate look on Trent's face is the shot of pure adrenaline that I needed: I love this. This is  _ power _ . 

He begs me, "Please don't hurt him." 

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you gambled your boyfriend away over cards."  _ And maybe I should take my own fucking advice. _ I slam the door in his face and lock it decisively, whipping around to peruse my new toy more carefully... 

I read off the contract like I'm taking roll: "Finn Seraphim." He nods a silent affirmation.

Finn stands with his hands clasped nervously before him and his head lowered. He dresses conservatively in a loose grey turtleneck that covers him from wrists to chin and baggy jeans. I pinch some loose fabric and tug on it, amused. 

"What are you hiding under here?" 

"N-Nothing," he says quietly. Balancing his soft chin on my fingertips, I tilt his face up to look at me. Big, sensitive green eyes plead for mercy.

"We both know that's a lie... Take it off," I command. 

"T-Take it-" he stammers. 

"All of it." 

Helpless, Finn stripteases to the sweet, sweet music of his boyfriend desperately banging on the door and calling his name. He slips out of his sweater hesitantly, as if every inch of skin he reveals is pure agony. I dunno, feels pretty good to me. This guy is little more than a set of bones stitched up in a skin casing; I tally each rib as he unveils it. His chest is narrow and flat, accented with cute, rosy nipples and animated by nervous breathing. As his head pops loose from the turtleneck, fluffy curls bounce around his face. There's a natural flush to his lips and cheeks that makes him look like he's permanently blushing - and grows when he actually is. 

Finn's pants come off next. He has to undo a belt studded with several extra holes punched into it just to accommodate his thin frame. They fall away from skinny legs and an unimpressive pecker. But that doesn't matter, I'm only interested in what's underneath. And _holy shit_ , It should be a crime to dress a body like this in a potato sack like _that!_ But don't worry, I fixed that. Now the only article of clothing on his body is a simple gold cross on a thin chain around his neck. Grabbing it, I tilt it between my fingers. 

"You're Christian?" I ask. 

"Catholic," he answers. Father never said much about religion, and if he did it was usually to complain. A 'God didn't save you,  _ I  _ did, where's  _ my  _ church?' kind of thing. 

I close a fist around the cross, grinning at him. "Oooh, a believer. Tell me, in your expert opinion, am I going straight to hell for this?" 

"The salvation of your soul is between you and God." His plush lip trembles as if he wants to add to that. It pops out, "But no one is beyond redemption." 

He flinches when I burst out laughing. "Do you really think that?" I come down, still smiling as I touch my forehead to his and squeeze the necklace. "Well I'll make you a believer."  

I make as if to rip it right off but I change my mind. If there is a god, I want him to see what I'm about to do to this choir boy. Finn shudders as I close the distance between us, pressing him up against myself by the lower back. I know he can feel the hardness in my pants and it makes him nervous.

"I'm definitely going to hurt you," I say under my breath, toying with his pretty curls, wrapping and unwrapping one around my finger. His eyes go wide with fear. Hey, I'm just being upfront with him. "But you can make it easier for yourself. Don't struggle. Don't bite. Don't try to run. Got that?" Finn nods in understanding, but he's brimming over with tears. I don't know why when I'm being so reasonable. "Good," I whisper against his lips before I take them, pushing into his mouth. He makes tiny, cute noises that swing wildly between pleasure and fright, but he doesn't resist, balling up his little fists nervously on my chest. 

"You're cute," I chuckle into his mouth. I mean it. He's so cute, it kinda just... Makes you want to smack the cuteness right out of him and see if he cries. So I do, striking him across the face. 

Finn lands on the carpet with a gasp. Nope, no tears just yet, but that adorable slapped-puppy expression is enough to send a sadistic rush of blood to my head. I descend to shove him roughly on his back. He looks embarrassed when I spread his legs wide to reveal a tight hole that he must not use much (at all?) and covers his face with his hands. 

"Please don't... Look there..." I'll do him one better. He squirms when I stroke his sensitive pucker.

"But it's the cutest one I've ever seen," I say, amused. I prod him but his stubborn entrance is clammed up tight. "Does it even work, or is it just for show?" He blushes deeply at that.  _ Greeeaat _ , Trent's a rookie at cards and Finn's a virgin in bed. Really, what the actual fuck were they doing at that poker table?

"Ow!" he cries as I work my finger steadily past his seal. Once I have that one in, I give him no time to recover, adding another. I scissor them, trying to stretch him with brute force. "It's too tight!" The choir boy moans in despair. I agree: fingering isn't going to get him loose in this lifetime, so maybe it's time for a more direct approach. Finn's eyes widen as I unzip my pants to reveal what I'm working with. 

"Is it bigger than Trent's?" It was obvious from his expression but I just have to rub it in, grinning. He nods wordlessly. Well, looks like it's time to convert him...

Pinning Finn to the floor, I climb on top. He shudders when I close my mouth over one of his cherry nubs, suckling on it, then gives a yelp as I bite down. Drawing his thighs apart, I pressure his stubborn entrance impatiently. 

"Be gentle..." he moans. Ironically, that's just the push I need to break my way in. He screams as I take the plunge. There's only one way to go from here but this guy just will not let up! His tunnel contracts desperately and I consider giving him a friendly reminder that the tenser he is, the harder this will be, but...  _ Mmm _ ... That does feel good... Instead, I force myself in with short, aggressive thrusts, like drilling a hole more than pounding one. Finn's face is screwed up through the ordeal, hands dug into his hair as he pants heatedly. His expression is kinda hilarious, actually but he's really trying!

"I-It hurts! It hurts!" He wails, unable to take it quietly anymore. 

"Hurts? What,  _ that _ ? I'll show you hurt!" Finn's eyes widen fearfully, watching me fold his legs up, knees almost over his head. Finally, a better angle! More vertically than horizontally this time, I jackhammer at him without mercy.

"You're gonna - gonna tear me open!" He gasps. I slap his petite ass. 

"Then you'd better make sure I finish before that. Beg for my cum."

"Please, Master, I-I want your cum!" He quails plaintively. I blink, pleasantly surprised by how quickly the words came out. 

"Well, where do you want it, slut?" I push, grinning.

"I-In... In my - ah! - In my ass!" Finn is bright red. I really,  _ really _ hope Trent is still out there listening, because fuck, he'll say anything! 

I'm just toying with him at this point. "The alphabet," I order, "Backward." 

His mouth twists. "Zzzz-oh my gosh- Y- is this happening to me, X- _ actly. Like. That. _ W- this is too hard!" He gives up, moaning.

Pleasure is catching up with me in waves: "I agree," I grunt, slowing down for depth.

"D-Deep..." he mumbles insensately. Hilting myself, I summon up an orgasm just for him.

"Here's your reward, slut!" I howl in unison with his cry of surprise as I unload.

" _ Hot! _ " Finn squeaks with his vocabulary that seems to suddenly be limited to single syllables at the moment. 

I stare at my handiwork on the floor. Finn's little chest heaves and his blonde eyelashes are heavy with salty teardrops. Exhausted arms lie uselessly on the carpet over his mop of tousled blonde hair. I should feel accomplished like I always do after a good score, but as the high dies down, I realize that inky soup in the pit of my stomach still churns. If anything, it feels  _ darker. _ There's nothing wrong with Finn: he's cute, obedient, has the prettiest eyes... But I'm still thinking about Matteo.  _ There's something wrong with me.  _ What is Damon doing to him tonight? Something like this? Something worse?  _ I'll show him worse...  _

"Wh-Where are we going?" Finn questions in a panic as I wrench him to his feet. 

"Out," I say ominously. 

The training grounds are abandoned in the twilight: a maze of eerie shapes against the backdrop of the forest. We're not supposed to be out here, but they say that like they expect me to listen! The pull-up bar gives me ideas. I truss Finn to it with rope.

"Stop... Stop!" he whines unhelpfully. When I'm done, his arms are pinned to the bar and his feet hang off the ground - on the cross like his favorite fictional character. "What are you doing?" Finn cranes his neck as I step around behind him to his exposed back. I extend my baton to whip length, actually  _ excited _ for this. 

"Crucifixion, I think? Or atonement? Maybe just beating the hell out of you. Hey, you tell me, you're the bible boy!" The first lash of the whip tears a pink line into the pale canvas of his back and a scream from his throat. Jeez, he bruises  _ easy-peasy _ . 

"Save your voice. We're just getting started." Finn takes a lashing like I've never given out before. I carve off a little bit of frustration with every strike and discharge it across his back. Euphoria rushes into the gap - I'm losing  _ count _ \- the lacerations multiply as if by magic. Split skin weeps red and I hear screaming, but who knows where it's from. All I see is a raw chunk of unfeeling meat on a stick. 

The cold air makes me shudder and interrupts my rhythm. Or maybe it was my conscience, poor bastard, haven't heard from him in years. Then I hear from Finn too: muttering under his breath. Did I break his mind too? Only when I step closer do I hear what he's saying:

"Passion of Christ, strengthen me. Good Jesus hear me," He's  _ praying.  _ It just blows me away: what about this situation makes him think god has anything to do with it? With a twist of the handle, my whip snaps back into a baton. I spread his cheek with a thumb and thrust it into a battered entrance. Finn interrupts his prayer with a little shriek. I tap the button to give him a jolt. Not enough to be dangerous, just hurt him in a sensitive place, but he screams bloody murder anyway, arching his entire body in agony. I screw my baton in deeper and grab his necklace. It looks like I'm clutching it, but it feels like I'm hanging from it for dear life.

"If there was a god, why would he let this happen to you?" I whisper desperately. 

"He's testing me..." Tears roll down the choir boy's cheeks. That wasn't the answer I was looking for. 

My gaze darts away as I roll my eyes. "I think  _ I'm _ the one being tested here."

"You  _ are. _ " The cryptic statement makes me turn back to him. 

"Nothing's changed. You're just trading one slave collar for another," I hiss. He sets his trembling lips in a hard line. 

"I'll pray for you." It takes me a second to realize it, but that's the sickest burn they taught him at Sunday school. I shock him again, this time strong enough to knock him the fuck out, because if he keeps talking, I'm going to have a crisis of faith or something and I've been trying to kick  _ that _ can down the road as far as possible. 

I sit down on a nearby tire, leaving Finn's unconscious body swinging gently from the bar. He's a bloody mess.  _ You did that.  _ Yeah, what about it? Dragging a hand restlessly through my hair, I let my attention hover on the edge of the forest. The forests of Decay... There are rumors about that place, none of them very nice. They say freakish creatures live in the jungles, and seemingly healthy vegetation rots right off the stem, to be replaced by new growth within a day. Now I'm not the kind of guy who falls for tall tales (especially when it's about a dick; they're never as big as you think...) but I've seen soldiers patrolling the border with flamethrowers just to keep the flora back. The forests swallow men alive, never to be seen again, but vamps seem to get around just fine. Red eyes suddenly pierce through the darkness, staring right at me. I freeze. 

Speak of the devil. I'm on my feet in an instant, gripping my weapon. 

"Finally! It's about damn time I got to kill something around here," I growl. 

"Sorry to disappoint you." The vampire steps out of the foliage with four friends. Doubt trickles in. Okay, that's a little more action than I bargained for. Each vampire is a silhouette in black body armor and face masks which cover everything except the scary red eyes. That's how they get in your head; psyche you out. "Why do you look so surprised when you invited us so generously to dinner?" the leader says in a mocking tone. He glances at Finn. "We could smell this feast for miles." Blood. How could I be so stupid? The vamps walk this way in a perfectly disciplined row. 

"Back off!" I activate my baton in a last ditch effort to intimidate them. They don't look impressed. The leader directs his men with a wave of his hand and short blades slide from sheaths in perfect sync; red holo shields appear at their wrists. It's all I can do to ready my weapon as they form a ring around me. Meanwhile, the leader moves languidly towards the bar and cuts Finn down, catching him in his arms. It almost looks romantic as he lowers his head by Finn's neck to breathe in his scent. 

"Beautiful..." he murmurs. Red eyes land on me again. "Capture him." The vampires charge.

I block the first sword with my baton and duck a second, rolling out of the ring just before it cinches shut on me. Whipping around, I catch one of the vampires off balance, sending him sprawling. Lunging at the one who takes his place, I press the tip of my baton into his chest and jolt him violently backward.  _ Behind me.  _ I sense movement, spinning around in a split second to strike one of the vampires across the face. He catches my baton just in time on his holo shield. We struggle a bit until he remembers he has a sword and I have to jump out of the way of his swing. 

My back crashes into a broad chest; muscular arms clad in black lock down, pinning my arms by my sides. The pointy end of the other vampire's sword is getting awfully close! 

" _ Not today! _ " I let out a roar, bracing a foot against his chest to kick him back where he came from. I dig my baton into the crotch of the vampire holding me and zap him mercilessly. He actually breaks his killing machine persona to scream like a little girl and stumble away cradling his jewels. A grin tweaks my lips. 

It doesn't last when cold steel slits the back of my thigh. Lucky shot! A gasp escapes me as I fall to one knee; warm blood spills over the dirt. The vampire who cut me looms over me now. His red eyes flash dangerously at the sight of fresh blood before he tackles me flat on the ground.

"Get off me!" I yell like I actually expect him to listen. He laps at my wound like a thirsty man in a desert, squeezing it desperately for more. I cry out, struggling.

"Control yourself! We have to capture him alive!" The leader sounds exasperated but not very committed to the idea. His soldier isn't listening anyway. He lunges for my throat. I see the terrifying flash of fangs before they sink in, frigid and foreign. I groan as my strength slips away through rivulets of blood down his throat. My head is suddenly light; there are spots in my vision and they're getting bigger. 

A gunshot. My eyes shoot open to see the vampire falling away, a bullet in his temples. 

"Sniper!" Someone sounds the alarm. Blood gushes from now-abandoned puncture wounds in my neck; I summon up enough common sense to clamp a hand over them. Another bullet whizzes dangerously close to a second vampire. 

"Retreat!" the leader commands as they disappear into the forest. Wait, wait, they took Finn with them! 

"That's right you better fucking run, you bloodsucking sons of bitches!" The foul-mouthed sniper's boots land on the ground near my head.

I look up at him, embarrassed, as he looks down at me. The sniper has dark amber skin and tight coils of sky blue hair that trail to his hips, currently tied back in a ponytail. His face is obscured by a pair of chunky night vision goggles which he quickly props up on his head.  _ Yellow eyes _ . 

"Y-You were at the poker table," I say incredulously. How could I forget? 

"Huh. I remember you," the sniper says callously as he kneels to my side, expertly bandaging my wounds. "You sucked." 

"Hey-!" He cuts off my complaint by tugging the bandages around my neck. 

"Oh, I'm sorry cupcake, was that too tight for you?" He simpers mockingly. The sniper wrenches me to my feet, giving me little time to recover. He grips my arm tightly - I realize this is his version of a handshake. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Sylphos Sterling." 

"Corp-Ser-Gen-" I fumble as the ranks get mixed up in my mouth. Why is this army stuff so complicated when all we really need to do is point and shoot! 

"Nice to meet you, Corpsergeneral." Sylphos arches a cyan eyebrow at me. 

"First Sergeant Rayce Gunner," I mutter with my face flushed, finally getting it right. At least, I think so. 

"Like I don't know who you are, Gunner. You might be the commander's brother but you have no idea how the army works," he says curtly. He's got a point there, I really thought there would be less slave sex and gangbangs for some reason! The sniper pulls out a hip flask and douses the vampire corpse with what smells like gasoline. Then he tosses down a match to create a cheerful little undead bonfire. "Gotta burn 'em to be sure," he says, "Or that one will be knocking on our door in time for breakfast. Did you even know that?" Sylphos regards my blank expression for a second and shakes his head. I'm trying to be indignant here but I can't stop staring at his ponytail swinging hypnotically from side to side... "Figures." Then he speaks into his radio, "Vamp sighting on the east perimeter; four targets - probably scouts."

"They took Finn!" I add.

"And they've taken a hostage, over."

_ "Roger that, over."  _ Another voice replies. An alarm goes off, low at first then gathering into a piercing wail.

"There's no time to lose." Sylphos leads the way into the forest without missing a beat, cotton-candy blue hair bouncing along behind him. 

"We're going into the forest?" I drag my feet. 

"Is that going to be a problem,  _ First Sergeant Gunner? _ " He taunts. I steel myself and push into the foliage. 

In Decay, sharp objects are your best friend! Sylphos draws a machete, slicing his way through the questing young vines and brush that lattice the way forward. My eyes dart nervously around the 7-year-old's art project that is Decay. Twisted, mottled tree trunks striped in strange colors, bizarre cookie-cutout foliage and claggy ground that apparently loves to lull you into a sense of secure footing before sucking you down. I never quite know if I'm going to get a muddy sole, pant leg or a swampy _grave_.   
The odor gets stronger as we go along: something like overripe fruit and decaying flesh. "What's that smell?" I ask Sylphos. He doesn't have to answer when we walk into a putrid, rotting hallway of vegetation. I can't even believe what I'm seeing as the foliage actively decomposes within minutes: a process that should take weeks or months. Digested tree trunks rolls down in sticky beads, pooling in toxic colors onto the ground, like crayons melting on hot tarmac...  
"We're getting close," says Sylphos, "It's usually worse around vampires."

"You mean  _ vamps _ did this?"

"Oh no," he chuckles, "They just strolled through." It reminds me that out here, far from the safety of the army HQ, we're on Fade's terms.  _ Vampire  _ terms. I force my fingers apart from where they were strangling my baton handle.  _ Calm down. _ Sylphos was watching me carefully. "Where's your gun?" 

"Umm..." I pull out a standard-issue military pistol. 

He glares at me in exasperation. "That's it?" 

"I don't need one, I have my baton."

"Because that worked so well the first time!" 

"They were tough, you just landed a lucky shot!"

"I don't have luck, I have  _ training _ . What are you going to do, bludgeon them to death with your massive ego?!" Sylphos escalates, then he's shushing me again when we hear movement in the leaves. Guns pointed at the branches, we back up slowly toward a bubbling pit of mud so we can't be flanked. The sniper tilts his head in my direction and whispers, "Okay, on the count of three, you bank left and I'll go right. With any luck, your crappy shooting will distract them long enough for me to take them out." I'm too tense to fight him on that one, nodding briefly. "One... Two..." 

"Three!" A voice behind us as a vampire springs up from the mud. His arms wrap around us and then we're going down - all the way down to land in cold, sucking mud, trapped like flies on flypaper. The ooze folds around my flailing limbs and cements them down. "There's no point trying to get away, just let go." The vampire snickers. "You'll make a tasty treat..." Then he licks Sylphos' cheek. 

"Oversized tick!" Sylphos spits furiously, struggling as hard as he can. I notice Sylphos' rifle sinking away slowly beside him. It seems pointless, but here goes nothing,

"Help!" I shout at the top of my lungs. 

"No one can hear you, idiot!" says Sylphos.

"I dunno, people seem to show up when I need them!" 

"Gunner?!" Before Sylphos can voice his disbelief, Flaere and Matteo stumble into the clearing like mildly confused guardian angels. God loves me after all!

"Told you so!" I crow in triumph. Sylphos shakes his head at me in horrified amazement.

Matteo's blue eyes widen at the sight and he points a gun. 

"Let go of them!" he shouts as Flaere drops into a fighting stance. The vamp doesn't like those odds. He sinks away into the ooze. Flaere gets to work pulling us out as Matteo scans the trees with his pistol. 

"Ow, ow, ow!" Flaere's going to dislocate my arms the way he's pulling on them! But he gets us unstuck in one piece. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, "We heard the alarm!"

"Better now that you're here..." I shake mud off in globs.  

"Who cares about you?!" Sylphos snaps at me. He curses under his breath as he examines his sniper rifle. The moving parts are jammed with mud. "My rifle is ruined!"  

"You can borrow my gun." Flaere offers Sylphos his pistol. The sniper takes it without so much as a 'thank you', frowning at it.

"What do you guys have against  _ staying alive? _ "

I have bigger things to worry about, namely  _ Matteo _ . I run straight to him and snatch both of his limp hands. He lifts his face hesitantly as if he doesn't want me to see it, and then I see why. There's a deep purple bruise over his left eye. My blood runs cold. 

"Did Damon do this to you?" I demand. 

"Rayce, I don't..." 

"Did  _ Damon  _ do this to you; just answer the question!" He flinches away. That's it. The next time I see him, I'm gonna fucking kill the guy... So yeah, nothing's changed. 

"Stop it!" Matteo bursts out. "This isn't the time, and even if it was, I don't want you two fighting anymore because we have more important battles to win. Like the  _ war! _ You had your chance, Rayce." He turns away, wiping his face irritably. "Believe me, I wanted it to work out too." 

"Are you two done yet?" Sylphos interrupts rudely. "We've wasted enough time here." 

"I am." Matteo follows him with his head down, avoiding my gaze. Does he even care that he's breaking my heart or is that routine procedure at this point? I glance at Flaere as if to say, 'can you believe this?' But he's staring forlornly after Sylphos. Uh oh, I recognize that expression because I was just wearing the same one. 

"Someone has a crush," I tease. Flaere's entire face lights up red. 

"I-I do not!" he protests. I fold my arms. "He's hot," Flaere is forced to admit it when I see through his paper-thin ruse. 

"He's a ball-buster, that's what he is..." I mutter. 

"He's just...  _ Confident _ ." Flaere lets out a dreamy sigh. 

 

The four of us bluster through the forest for what feels like hours but no vampires. I think back nervously to the condition Finn was in before he got captured. If we don't rescue him soon, there won't be anyone left to rescue. I have a crazy idea... But I get the feeling that no one is going to go along with it unless it's already happening.

"Anyone have a knife?" I ask abruptly. Flaere offers one up. Perfect. I stab myself in the side, grunting in pain -  _ okay, that hurt more than I thought...  _ Surprised noises all around me:

"Rayce, have you lost your mind?!" Matteo demands, moving to help but I pull out of reach. I still remember the look in that vamp's eyes when he pounced at me, desperate for blood.

"Those vamps are hungry and they can smell blood for miles... I'll be the bait." 

"This is insane!" Matteo's wavy hair flounces as he shakes his head rapidly. "It's too dangerous..." 

"It's the only way. I won't be strong enough to fight them, so you guys will have to follow us back to where they're keeping Finn."

"I don't like this plan," Flaere moans.

"Actually,  _ I _ do." Sylphos finally looks at me with a shred of respect. "You sure you're up to it, Gunner?" I nod. "Then let's fall back!" 

Matteo stomps a foot, lagging behind. "There has to be a better way than serving Rayce like an entree!" 

"Entree?" I grin at him cheesily. "Babe, I'm a whole  _ snack.  _ Wanna taste?" He stares at me, unblinking, and I can just  _ see _ the desire to save me physically draining away. 

Then he says, "Coming," as he follows Sylphos and Flaere into the foliage. 

The clock is ticking so let's up the ante. Reckless, but unable to stop myself, I undo the bandaging around my neck. Light-headed but I manage to drag myself onto a flat boulder to bleed out more effectively I guess. 

I brace myself and yell a the treetops, "Dinner is served!"

 

"I must be having a lucky streak..." My eyes shoot open. Well, it's about damn time. The leader of the scouts looms over me, his red eyes piercing into mine. "Left to die by your teammates? What a sad little martyr." Removing his black glove, he dips two fingers into the puddle of blood and samples it. He closes his eyes blissfully and takes a deep breath. "Exquisite. My compliments to the chef." 

"Yeah, I'll make sure he gets that," I say sarcastically. 

"The blood cellars will be full tonight," he muses as he picks me up easily, tossing me over his shoulder. 

The scout leader takes me to a cave that would be almost invisible if you weren't looking for it. The entrance is crisscrossed with purplish vines that, honestly, blend into the background in this bizarre place. We descend into darkness until the soft glow of a campfire lightens it up. The other scouts are clustered around it. I see a pale shape in the corner, dumped there like trash.  

"Finn!" I gasp aloud. His skinny chest rises and falls as if to respond to me that he's alive.

"The commander will be pleased with our work today." The scout leader tosses me down into the corner with him. I gather Finn into my arms. His skin is clammy and his face looks impossibly peaceful.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic. You did the worst of it. We simply came to collect the leftovers." The scout leader sips from his canteen. 10-1 odds that's blood; 10-none odds it's Finn's. "Well, we should get them to headquarters." The leader stretches lazily. "Before they die of blood loss... Remember when  _ we  _ were that fragile?" he muses.

"Speak for yourself." One of the others snickers. 

It's stalling time! "Fragile? You have no idea who you're dealing with, do you? I'm Rayce Gunner." Crossing my fingers that my name has some magic left. 

" _ Rayce Gunner? _ " Finally, the scout leader looks at me with interest. "The commander's little brother?"

"Yep, Cisco Gunner, hero of the human race, savior of men, no big deal." I don't know what I expect to accomplish by name-dropping Cisco, but it's not what I get. The vampires burst out laughing, some of them slap their knees like I just told a joke. 

" _ Hero? _ " one of the vamps recovers enough to say. "Maybe your father was a hero of some sort, but your brother only sealed your doom." 

"Well, we haven't lost yet, have we? We're still fighting!" 

"Fighting, yes," the scout leader has just looked bemused the whole time, sipping from his canteen. "But not who you think. He's been making deals with the Sanguine Council. Dirty, treacherous deals..." The  _ Sanguine Council?  _ The rulers of vampire territory?  

"That's a  _ lie! _ " Adrenaline almost spurs me to my feet, but I falter at the last second, leaning heavily against the wall. 

"Why don't you ask him yourself? He is your brother after all. Oh wait... I forgot, You won't be going home tonight. Worry not, Rayce Gunner, after we make an offering of you to the Sanguine Council, they might just parcel you up and give you right back to Cisco as the terms of another one of their little deals." My mind races: Cisco cutting deals with vamps? That's impossible! And if these vampires don't take orders from the Council, then just who are they working for? I shake the questions from my head. I can't afford them right now.

"I'm... Not going anywhere..." I push off the wall, wobble, and hold steady.

"Oh?" In response, I brandish my baton wearily, which must seem like big talk coming from the mortal bleeding out in a cave.  

"Don't be unreasonable, Gunner." The scout leader signals to the muscle-bound vampire who sits in the corner. He unfolds to what has gotta be twice my size -  _ was he always that big?  _ \- and cracks his knuckles as he walks towards me. Bet he's been itching for payback ever since I jolted him in the crotch.  _ Anytime now, guys...  _

I don't even get to use my baton when the vamp punches me across the face. I hit the wall hard and crumple to the floor while laughter echoes in my ears. The vamp gives me a hand as I struggle to rise, picking me right up by the front of the shirt. He slams me against the frigid wall. My feet are off the ground. 

"Give him one from me!" his teammate calls out. I see the vampire wind up his fist and brace myself. Not that it helps when the shattering punch lands against my cheek, breaking bone. The second one breaks my will. I cough up blood. The bulky vampire pulls down his face covering and steals a kiss, raiding my mouth like a fridge.

"He tastes good..." the muscular vampire says as he withdraws, licking blood off his lips. "What's HQ's policy on damaged goods?" 

"As long as you don't kill him." The leader shrugs. 

"Good." He roughly gropes my crotch and  _ that's  _ when I panic. 

"What are you doing?!" I writhe in his grip. 

"I've never fucked a military  _ hero  _ before..." 

The scout leader laughs. "Screwing him won't change that." My pants are coming off-! Guys? Guys?! Did everyone forget the plan and go home or something?! Just then, I hear gunfire. The muscular vamp holding me lurches forward, shot in the back but it just made him angry. The other vampires are on their feet, stirred up like a hornet's nest. 

Sylphos takes one out with a bullet to the brain and then Flaere springs - literally - into action, incapacitating a second one with a devastating roundhouse kick. And then there were two... The muscle-bound vampire drops me, turning to face the new challengers. The scout leader drifts to stand beside him, drawing his sword while Sylphos and Flaere regroup across form them. 

"Think you can take him, ponytail?" Sylphos nods at the big one. Flaere digs both hands into his pockets and pulls them out again, gripping gleaming brass knuckles. 

"Yeah." He narrows his eyes. 

"Good. I'm counting on you." Flaere blushes, but he has no time to dwell on it when Sylphos fires at the leader. The scout leader moves like a shadow along the wall, always just out of reach. Flaere turns his attention to the big guy, but even with brass knuckles on, his punches are barely making an impact. 

I'm distracted from the fight when Matteo skirts the conflict to rush to my side. 

"Are you okay?" he asks frantically as he staunches as much of the bleeding as he can. "Your face..." He touches it. Ha. Now we match. It feels so good that I can't let him go just yet, holding him by the wrist as I press my cheek into his palm. I close my eyes for a second and just enjoy it... When I open them again, Matteo is looking at me with longing blue eyes. He rips his attention away to place it on Finn. 

"What did they do to him..." Fingers run gingerly over Finn's bloodied back. Sure...  _ Them _ . I swallow uncomfortably, but I'll let him believe it. 

"Watch out!" Flaere is yelling to the cyan-haired sniper as the scout leader lunges at him, sword outstretched. Thrusting Sylphos out of the way, Flaere kicks the sword out of the vampire's grip, catches it out of midair and drives it right through the leader's heart and into the dirt wall. A shriek pierces the stagnant air. 

Disoriented on the floor, Sylphos shakes his head to collect himself, then notices the big vampire lumbering towards a distracted Flaere. 

"Not so fast!" Sylphos plugs the vampire full of bullets. He staggers backward, taking an impressive number of shots before finally coming crashing down, 

"Are you okay, Sylphos?" Flaere rushes to his side. 

"Fine." Sylphos ignores his outstretched hand to rise on his own. "And it's Sterling." Flaere looks chastised; he shrinks in his spot. 

"We need to get Finn to a medic,  _ now _ ," Matteo says urgently.

"Oh yeah," Sylphos snickers as he casually reloads his gun. "Gunner did a real number on him." My heart skips a beat -  _ caught _ . And how long was Sylphos just  _ watching  _ us anyway?

"He  _ what? _ " Matteo's eyes go wide. He looks at me as if begging me to contest that. 

"I..." Don't know where that sentence was going... Nowhere satisfying, anyway. 

"Did you do that to Finn?  _ Finn Seraphim _ the catholic church boy?" The demands land like lead weights on my shoulders. Matteo drops to a furious whisper, "He knits socks for orphans, Rayce! For  _ orphans! _ " 

"Well don't  _ tell me that! _ " I snap. Miserable and guilty, I stare at my shoes. A sigh escapes me. "I did it, okay?" But Matteo rewards my honesty with a disgusted look. "I'm trying to make it right..." I say more quietly. Wrapping Finn up in my military jacket, I cradle the blonde's impossibly light frame as I pick him up. He's so small that my jacket looks more like a dress on him, but at least it covers his abused body. 

"Careful!" Flaere tries to support me when I stumble, but I elbow him away. 

"I have to do this myself." Every labored step reverberates through my weakened legs; I grit my teeth and keep going. 

"Oh brother, here we go," Sylphos rolls his eyes, arms folded. "You Gunners always have to be so goddamn dramatic and you didn't even do most of the work." 

 

Heads turn when we finally emerge from the forest. 

"They did it!" Someone yells. I lift my face, stunned to hear applause. They're cheering... For  _ me?  _

"Go Gunner!" 

"You're the man, Sergeant!" 

Movement in my arms; Finn is flickering awake. His big green eyes land on me, stunned. 

"You saved my life!" The damsel tosses his skinny arms around my neck, just adding to the sheer ridiculousness. Oh, I didn't realize my cheesy movie was ending: I half expect everyone to start dancing! Soldiers crowd around to clap me on the back while Finn plants sweet kisses on my cheek. Hey, a guy could get used to this! ...Until I realize that Matteo isn't by my side anymore. He flashes me a regretful look and slips away through the crowd. 

"W-Wait!" I want to follow him, just swim through this sea of people and grab onto him like a life ring, but a wave of dizziness pushes me back. "Woah..." I stagger. 

"Rayce, you don't look so good," Finn sounds concerned. Oh right, I just lost maybe a quarter of the blood in my body. It's no wonder, I pass the fuck out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta keep the faith in a dystopian future full of vampires.


	7. Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes

Blinding white lights. If you tell me I went and fucking died after all that, I am going to be all kinds of pissed off. I sit up with a groan, blinking away the fuzz. When my eyes adjust, I find myself in the hospital wing, so maybe I'm not dead after all, but I do feel strangely naked on the stretcher, dressed in the paper-thin gown that now substitutes for my clothes.

"Welcome back, Rayce Gunner!" That's Dr. Coolidge's voice.

"Thanks-" I cut myself off when I see him orrr... _not?_ My ears and eyes can't seem to agree on what I'm dealing with here because, sure, he sounds like Dr Coolidge... But the pretty young woman by my bedside is, well, a _woman!_ My mouth falls open. This shouldn't even be possible. Women don't get to just walk around and practice medicine and _look this hot_ outside the corporation. Maybe I did die and go to heaven after all...

"Who the hell are you?" I demand but I'm already going on the round-the-world tour of her amazing body. She has a petite hourglass shape and her low-cut nurse outfit puts her cleavage on display. She wears cute white stockings and garters which she can't possibly get much medical work done in. Perky corkscrews of snow-white hair spill over her rounded shoulders; I follow their curly pattern back to bright mauve eyes. _Those_ , I recognize.

Hard in a split second, I am losing my will to solve this mystery... I don't even care if it shows through the pathetic fabric of the gown. Women are such a rare sight even back home in Clear, all holed up in the Repopulation Society as breeding stock, separated from the rest of us and kept under lock and key. Population management or some fancy corporate bullshit. All I'm saying is, I bet the CEO dips into the stock! Cisco dropped a ton of cash to rent his lady, just for a chance at having a kid, so man is he going to be pissed that I got one for free!

"Don't you remember me, Gunner? It's Snow!" she giggles, interrupting my fantasies. _Wait a second..._ It dawns on me slowly.

"You're a _drag princess?_ "

"I knew you could do it." She- _He_ winks at me flirtatiously. Goddammit. I'm slightly disappointed but the curves of his cleavage make my lips curl again. I don't know how he's doing it (or _why_ ), but at least he's hella good at it...

I didn't expect to find Snow running his eyes over me in turn. It's a little... weird being on the receiving end. Especially from a teenager. But when his gaze rests a little further south than I should be comfortable with, the problem starts morphing into a turn-on which is a whole different problem... Uuugh, fuck I need to stop doing it with teens, but hey, _someone's_ gotta show them the ropes, right (sometimes literally)? They're always raring to go, down for anything, hopped up on hormones and their parents' liquor, and trust me, they can go for _hours_ if you nail them just right. And the screaming. God, they're screamers.

Judging by Snow's eager expression, he might be a prodigy, but he's no different from his sluttier and non-doctorate-holding counterparts. Ugh, get off my case; I'll be a better person _tomorrow_.

"Nice costume," I gesture at his clothes. "Got a show to go with it?" His eyes just light up.

"I thought you were never going to ask." I smirk as he claps his hands together and rubs them in anticipation.

A footstool scrapes against the tiles as Snow quickly drags it up to the stretcher. Meanwhile, I casually undo the last couple of buttons on my gown, letting the quaintly patterned white cloth fall away from my erection. I spread my legs to bracket the petite shoulders of the doctor/nurse/slut (pick your favorite) kneeling on the stool in front of me. His eager eyes dart up and down the impressive length. Well, this is a nice change of pace for this place. I laugh,

"You're really into this, huh?"

"Oh yes, I had a feeling you would be a good specimen." Uh, what? _Specimen?_ I have no time to wonder about it when he abruptly pulls down the front of his dress, revealing two pendulous orbs wrapped in pure white lace. He slows down at the bra hooks, undoing them one by one with a cloying smile on his face. _Snap!_ A pair of creamy tits capped in soft pink nipples swing free of their confines. I open my mouth and close it again because no words would do those things justice. _How is he doing this?_

He wraps those pillowy tits around my heaving cock. _Oh damn -!_ A tiny moan escapes my lips as he sinks down on it. The head of my cock quests up through the valley of his cleavage.

"Peek-a-boo!" he whispers at it lovingly, as if it has a mind of its own. Okay, maybe he has a point there.

"Are you a military doctor or a pediatrician?" I cock an eyebrow.

"You have to be both when you're treating man-children!" Snow smiles brightly. "Hi there, little Gunner, would you like to help me with my research?" he goes on talking to my penis like that's totally normal.

"It's not little _..._ " I would just like to clarify for the record! Manipulating his breasts, he makes my cock nod back at him and speaks for it in a silly voice like he's doing characters in a bedtime story, "I would love to, Dr. Coolidge, you're so smart!"

"Research?" I narrow my eyes. Every time he says something science-y, it dampens the mood in here. "What the hell are you talking about? I thought you got off on this weird shit." My head down there isn't concerned with such things, spilling precum over malleable breasts. He skillfully rolls my cock between his tits, slathering both of us in sticky pre.

"My apologies if I've deceived." There's a twinkle in his eye as he glances up at me. "But I am a man of science, Gunner. And lucky you! You are now a part of my ground-breaking research!"

It should bother me! I make a token effort at indignance, propping myself up straight but - _nnng, he's good!_ He picks up the pace, pumping my slickened shaft as I edge closer towards climax.

"I'm not your guinea pig..." I pant but I'm not doing a very good job of proving it.

"Would you like me to stop, then?" I shoot him a glare that says otherwise. "Then I'm gonna need you to sign here, here aaaand here." He spreads out three documents on the stretcher beside me. I stare at them in disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

"No signage, no climax." Not when I'm this close! Oh fuck it, I don't care anymore. I sign all three without even skimming the words. My pen trails off on the last one as Snow rewards me by picking up the pace. I leave an addled squiggle at the edge of the page. _Soooo goood..._

"Use your mouth." I order. Snow shakes his head, his corkscrews bouncing jauntily with his pace.

"That would contaminate the sample."

"Then gimme those..." Brushing his hands off, I take control, roughly grinding his luxurious orbs against my cock. They even feel like the real deal... Or at least, how I imagine the real deal would feel. But the proof is in the velvety pudding. An actual woman would probably be in pain but he just looks up at me with that impish grin. I narrow my eyes at him distrustfully. He's served his purpose. My orgasm comes thick and fast, shooting into the air before raining into his ample cleavage.

Snow gasps with delight, gingerly withdrawing with his breasts pressed together to cup the white fluid that sloshes around there. I sit back, feeling strangely used as I watch him warily.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Tests," he replies like a kid in a candy store. He disappears behind a curtain.

"What kind?" I pry.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Sperm count, motility, all that jizz -I mean, _jazz._ "

"I'm perfectly capable of making babies, thank you very much," I call over the curtain indignantly. His laugh floats back.

"Dear no, I have no doubts about _that_."

"So then..." I prompt. He doesn't answer so I might as well get dressed. I hate hospital gowns. No one should need that much access to my ass at all times.

"Coolidge?" I try again. The curtain draws aside. I blink, surprised as he laughs behind a hand that is no longer capped with manicured nails. A laugh that would have once made his hair sway, but elicits no reaction from his short, straight white hair. A lab coat thrown over perfectly solid lines where gorgeous curves used to be. That sexy nurse outfit morphed into comfy navy blue scrubs. And the most tragic loss of all? His bountiful chest. Gone, just _gone_ ; he's flat as a board. The only connection between the 'woman' that went in and the man that came out is his amused purple eyes.

"That's... disappointing," I manage to say.

"I get that a lot." My perfectly male companion shrugs. "We must all make sacrifices for science!" He laughs again. His entire presence seems to laugh from his glittering eyes to his smiling lips, just constantly radiating warmth. I kinda like it. I quickly pull my pants on, zipping them decisively before my cock decides it wants a round two with the teen. I just got out of jail, and I am _not_ going to be baited back, thank you very much! He checks on the door when we hear knocking.

"Gunner, you have a visitor," he says cheerfully. A familiar little blonde head flounces into the room.

"Rayce, you're okay!" Finn tosses his arms around my neck. He's wearing a pristine white turtleneck, with his cross proudly displayed on the outside of his clothes. I guess he's feeling _extra_ faithful today. "I made you breakfast." Sure enough, there's a plate of pancakes in front of my face in short order. Breakfast in bed with a gorgeous blonde, well alright then! I open my mouth expectantly and let him feed me. A side of eye candy always makes pancakes taste sweeter!

"You saved my life..." he says reverently, conveniently forgetting that I was the one who put it in danger in the first place, "You're a hero." Rayce Gunner: sex bomb, _hero._ I like the sound of that. I slide my arms seductively around Finn's hips and grab his ass.

"Why don't you show me just how grateful you are..." I snarl, grinning. His eyes widen, adorable.

The door slides open again. I hate being interrupted when I'm trying to get ass in general, but I hate being interrupted by Lieutenant _Axel_ even more. I straighten up, my mouth set in a line as he approaches.

" _Lieutenant!_ " Snow chirps. "What brings you here? Didn't the pills help with your premature-" The lieutenant fixes Snow with a glare so violent it shuts him up at once. I bite my lip in an attempt not to laugh. Let's bank that one for later.

"I'm here for Gunner." He turns to me with only a slightly diluted version of that glare. "So you're finally awake."

"Rarin' to go, sir." He doesn't look very happy to see me, Rayce Gunner: sex bomb, hero. Yep. Still awesome.

"You lost your slave to a vampire within 24 hours of getting him. I can't have you going around _misplacing_ the stock like a child!"

"I got him back, didn't I?" I argue.

"You should never have been out there in the first place! You're here on Cisco's recommendation, but I'm starting to think he's simply showing the same nepotism your father did. Although, I can't say the results will be quite so favorable this time."

"But Rayce took down an entire vampire scouting unit! _Everyone's_ talking about it..." Snow gushes.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to, Coolidge!" Axel snaps. He redirects that anger on me. "Gunner, I want a progress update on your assignments." _Assignments,_ like high school essays to bullshit through. I grope Finn's ass meaningfully. The blonde doesn't seem to mind as long as he can hide his face from Axel in my chest.

"It's going great, thanks."

"And the other three?" I fall silent.

"Sergeant Black would have made real progress by now." You know, somehow I doubt that, judging by how quickly he offloaded Sylphos' chips. "Get it done, Gunner, or it's your ass on the line. _Literally_." His long coat whips about him as he spins on his heel and makes an exit. I roll my eyes at his back. What a lot of hot air; someone pop the window!

But I know better than to ignore Axel's threats after our little... 'Meeting'. Damon' words are starting to ring true: _'It's not about sex. It's about survival.'_ And mine is tied to my slaves, so who's _really_ the one in bondage here?  

"Who do you have to work with?" Snow asks me.

"Sylphos, Flaere and Jun," I groan slightly.

"Oh no." Finn sums it up pretty effectively, his sweet green eyes big and round.

"You don't have it easy, Gunner," Snow chuckles, "Maybe I can help you! I have everyone's medical records, after all." He moves to his laptop, clicking through the patient records.  

"Th-That sounds illegal," Finn pipes up until I shush him furiously.

"Let's see..." Snow bubbles an exhale between his lips, blowing a section of white hair out of his face. He's so cute, it's not fair to everyone else! "Well, this is interesting. Flaere's psych eval came back highly irregular."

"What, self-esteem issues? Even I could tell you that," I say sarcastically.

"It's not that. I would call him... Unpredictable."

" _Great_ , that's real helpful, doc _._ "

"I don't have to tell you about his physical condition. The last time Hunter got into a scuffle with another soldier, my schedule was just jammed facial reconstruction surgeries..." I swallow hard through a traumatic flashback of the time he nearly got me in the shower.

"So maybe I don't start with Flaere." My voice sounds unnaturally high; I clear my throat, embarrassed.

"Good idea... I'm not looking forward to another week of excruciating surgery just to lose a man to sepsis at the last minute again." Snow's grin and that statement don't match at all. My blood runs cold.  

"Sylphos," I change the subject. Snow clicks something and his eyes dart across the screen. Then they get very big.

"Oooh man, no way..." He actually sounds like a normal teen for a second in his excitement.  

"What is it?" I demand, impatient. He looks at me, biting his lip like he has a big, dirty secret he's not allowed to tell.

"I kinda want it to be a surprise..." he says.

"If it's gonorrhea, I'm going to come back here and shoot you," I warn him. He laughs again, but I'm not even kidding."Well, that's just fantastic, none of this is helpful at all!" I throw my hands up in the air.

"Hold on, hold on, there's one more!" Snow checks Jun's record. "Okay, good news, he had a perfect psych eval. And his physical was fine, but nothing you couldn't handle. I think he's a perfect start for you, Gunner!" My face burns when I think of Jun only to have my thoughts washed away by the tidal wave of shame and regret that comes with them.

"Pass," I say simply.

"Rayce, I really think you should listen to-" Finn begins but shuts up when I shoot him a glare. Just because I'm not currently eight inches deep in him doesn't mean I'm inviting his opinion. I take a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm going with Flaere," I say with grim determination. Snow arches an eyebrow.

"As a medical professional, I feel like I have a responsibility to advise against that..."

"I'll have to deal with him sooner or later, anyway." Besides, Flaere might be _physically_ terrifying, but under that muscular exterior, he's no different from any other low self-esteem, daddy-issues slut I tricked into bed for the price of some sweet words and a couple of girly drinks. Only to disappear before the sun rises and leave them sobbing and blowing up my phone with messages. Hey, I didn't mean to break any hearts, they just make it too easy!  

 

###

 

Apparently, Flaere's hobbies include playing pool all by himself in dimly lit rooms. Works for me. His features melt in and out of the rectangle of light over the table as he walks around it, teasing me with the shadows that his sculpted edges create. His backside is unwittingly presented to the air as he stands on his tiptoes to line up a shot, shielded from prying eyes only by thin denim shorts. The soft _tak!_ \- of the cue announces the shot.

Flaere's bright orange ponytail of wavy hair bounces cheerfully as he straightens up with a broad smile. He's hit a perfect combo.

"Nice shot, Hunter." He looks up in surprise as I walk in.

"Gunner!" Then his entire face lights up. Before I know it, his arms are wrapped around me in an exuberant hug. Snow called him unpredictable, but lucky for me, he seems to be in one of his good moods. He slips back to arm's length, smiling wide. "I heard about the contracts! You... You saved me."

"Yep, that's what I did," I say, amused as I wrap my arms around him casually, linking my hands at his lower back. "No more ropes... No more beatings..." You'd think I was talking dirty to him the way his expression just melts into a sappy puddle. He pops up on his tiptoes to give me an unexpected kiss. There's no way I could resist it, squeezing him slightly as I tag his tongue with mine. A twinge of guilt sinks into my stomach when I remember what I have to do to him. It forces my eyes open in the middle of the sugary kiss to see his blissfully closed. The new perspective of the kiss is oddly fascinating. I raid his mouth passionately and watch the tiny, almost imperceptible changes in his innocent expression, like a teenager getting his first kiss under the bleachers. He's easy. He's too easy.

He must finally feel my burning gaze when his eyes flutter open. It leaves his face bright red as he breaks off awkwardly.  

"I-It's too bad about Matteo," Flaere remembers a little late. He might as well have reached right over and torn open that barely healed wound in my side. I grimace.

"Yeah." But Flaere doesn't really care about any of that, does he? As long as he isn't the one being tormented. I have to change the subject or I'll give the game away. I lift a cue stick from the holder. "Wanna play?"

"Eight-ball, you and me! Winner gets to be on top." He winks.

"Oh, I intend to be." I wink back. Flaere laughs as he racks the balls.

"Don't sound so sure. You may be a Gunner, but this is _my_ pool table!" He sets his stick to the table. "I'll go first." The pool balls crack together in a delightful symphony of lacquer on lacquer as he delivers the breaking shot.

Flaere is gorgeous. Have I ever mentioned that? He weaves around the table like a candle flame on an alcohol-doused zipline. His long legs drive me wild, angled perfectly, a toe digging playfully into the ground as he concentrates on his shot. The way he arcs gently over the table... damn. I have to stand on the opposite side of it at all times just to shield the tent in my pants! I look down at the throbbing bulge almost nervously. Maybe it's best not to question penis physics too much, but it wasn't... _like_ _this_ in Clear... I had more self-control - although _no one_ I know would corroborate that. My thoughts are interrupted when Flaere jumps, sending his excitable ponytail bobbing. He pocketed the first ball of the game.

"Solids for me! Try and keep up, Rayce!" he declares. I nod.

"I've got stripes, then." I tap the end of the stick on the ground before lining it up with the cue ball. Flaere is good, I'll give him that! He's got great aim and a loooot of practice, that's only natural seeing as he used to work the red light districts of Clear. But I practically grew up there. Cisco worked for the future. I drank, gambled, snorted and fucked mine away. Something's gotta come out of that too, right? Flaere's eyes widen as I shoot a combo effortlessly, a perfect recreation of his earlier shot. I lean on the stick, smiling at the stripper wordlessly. The two halves of Harm's Way: the predator and the prey. I never know which is which.  

"Wow..." The excitement in Flaere's tone is dampened as if the only thing on the line here is the top spot in some pointless fling. "Not bad," he says. I just laugh. Poor guy.

The game wears on for an hour and a half, both of us feverishly fighting for each shot. It gets to the point where we're trying to sabotage each other more than play the damn game! As it winds down to a tooth and nail finish, there's one striped ball, the cue and the eight left on the table. This game is Flaere's to win and he knows it, unable to contain his grin as he aims for the eight. There's no way he's going to miss that simple shot. _Unless_... I walk around behind him and bring my open palm down sharply on his perky ass.

" _Hey!_ " His shot angled off terribly in the split second's interruption, much harder than he intended. He watches in despair as the cue cracks violently with the eight ball, sending it sailing right over the border of the table. It rolls away on the floor.

"You scratched the eight!" I laugh. "You know what that means..." Well, it means I win but something tells me he doesn't give a flying fuck about the game anymore. Probably because of my hand in his shorts, kneading the flesh underneath. He half-turns in alarm,

"What are you dooo - _oooh!_ " His hands land heavily on the pool table to support himself as I move to prod his hole. "That wasn't the deal!" He interrupts my inspection.

"Sorry, Flaere."

"Wha-" He slumps insensately in my grip under the cue stick's blow. I grin down at my beautiful new partner, draw a bright lock of hair from his unconscious face. Let the _real_ game begin.

 

Flaere tries to lift his head but it lolls forward on his seemingly boneless neck. He blinks slowly, moves, only to find he can't. His eyelids flutter more urgently this time as he struggles. The feeling of restriction panics him; that was obvious in the way he dressed. Now he's naked save for his boots. He finds his restraints quickly enough. The ropes crisscrossing his skin hold him down on his knees bent over on the pool table like the main course at a five-star dinner. His hands are trapped behind his back but of course, he's splayed wide open, which gives me a great angle to stuff another billiards ball in his ass with the cue stick.

He screams into the gag, which is honestly just a sock I stuffed into his mouth at the last minute. Look, I ran out of time, okay? Elaborate rope harnesses are a delicate and time-consuming art!

"Shut up, would you? I'm trying to concentrate here," I grunt as I try to force the ball down but it keeps resurfacing. "Oh no you don't," I mutter at the little bastard. Gripping Flaere's ponytail, I pull back on it, hard and push with the stick at the same time. _A-ha!_ His tortured body scrapes up another inch to give me as it sinks. Everything inside him moves in unnatural, uncomfortable ways. Flaere lets out a choked sound; his entire body shudders. I play eenie meenie minie mo to pick another ball from the triangular rack, casually wiping it with the end of my shirt. He should feel grateful I even bother cleaning them. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Flaere looking at me in silent horror. Tears roll down his cheeks to soak the sock gag. I turn my gaze languidly.

"What's the matter, Flaere? Did you think your life was magically going to get better just because your contract changed hands?" I bend over him ominously. He starts whimpering, panicked when he feels the next ball pressed against his entrance. A lesser master might reason that there's no more room in there. I'm not a lesser master. I _refuse_ to be. A tortured sound escapes the gag as I massage his gut, shifting things around.

"There's gotta be more space in here somewhere..." I mumble. Finally, Flaere works out that his gag has no structural integrity whatsoever and spits it out, coughing.

"Stop!" he gasps, "That's not going to fit! What are you _doing?!_ "

"That's quitter talk." I grin. Sure enough, slowly, but surely, the ball is finding its way in.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He sobs, eyes squeezed shut. "I thought we were friends!"  

" _Friends?_ Do you honestly think you deserve any?" I spit viciously. "Matteo is being _held hostage_ by an abusive master and here you are, playing pool and making out with his boyfriend! Some 'guardian' you are... Some _friend_..."

Flaere's grey eyes are wide and wet. His head drifts from side to side over and over again.

"N-No... _No_... I would never do that to Matteo..."

"Oh, well that's good to hear, except you fucking _did._ " Spurred on, I make a breakthrough, or maybe I'm just breaking _him_ when the billiards ball vanishes inside him. His mouth is open but nothing comes out. Not out of that end anyway.

The ball pops back out, rejected, and hits the table, rolling away slowly in the low light. It has a wet, alien sheen to it. The next one resurfaces almost at once; his body is rejecting the strain. The number on the blue ball says '2', peeking at me from inside like an eyeball.

"Et two?" I simper at it. Flaere doesn't laugh at my incredible joke. Whatever.

I hook him up to a rough pully system hanging from the light, which suspends him off the table and leaves strategic points exposed, arms pinned conveniently out of the way to a cue stick. What can I say? I'm a natural! Flaere isn't very appreciative of my genius, in fact, he's just eerily still, hanging his head and it's starting to creep me out. Just a little. I focus on something hotter: his body showing the balls out one by one, helped along by gravity.

"4, 5 aaaand... 6! That's all of them." I count them up, satisfied. Which means there's plenty of room in there for something new...

The sight of his chiseled body bound in rope, sweat glistening off his skin and his orange tongues of flame-like hair is more than enough to get me hard and ready to go. I find the loose end of the rope and pull, both lowering him closer to the table and drawing his legs apart simultaneously. It piques my curiosity.

"Just how flexible are you?" I keep pulling because I'm a pusher. Flaere's legs draw further and further upwards, straining the toned muscles of his calves and thighs. He doesn't make a sound and his body doesn't show the slightest sign of resistance to the stretching. He ends up with his legs by his head, perfectly disciplined and it would make a prima donna ballerina tremble with envy. I whistle at the sight. "Impressive!"

"I'll give you one last chance to let me go." His tone is different. Darker. Well isn't that _adorable_ , he thinks he's in a position to be making threats. And even if he was...

"Don't play innocent with me, Flaere," I whisper in his ear, "You fucking love it, don't you? The ropes, the helplessness. At least your body doesn't lie." I pump his throbbing cock. It rises eagerly to the occasion but- _what is... that?_ Colors that shouldn't be there: an intricate flame tattoo done up the underside of his sizeable cock. Holy crap! I burst out laughing. "You're a _freak!_ " I taunt. He just makes an off-key, unnatural sound - which I slowly realize is a laugh. He hangs his head back, panting, as I begin to crudely jack him off. I lean close to his face. "You were _taught_ to love this, weren't you? By Damon?" His head rolls forward again to look at me, amused and a little... _Off_. "Tell me. Tell me what happens in Damon's harem." I order.

"Go. Fuck. Yourself," he says. What's gotten into him? I slap him across the face as if I can just hit reset on him.

"That's not a very respectful thing to say to your Master," I sigh, standing up as I brandish the cue stick. "I didn't want to have to do this, you know." I tap the stick against my palm. Only then does he lift his face, a defiant expression illuminated in the soft lamp glow.

"That's a lie."

"Maybe just a little one." I grin, raising my weapon.

No one can hear Flaere scream. The pool room is way out of the way from the sleeping quarters and, at this hour? Everyone's asleep. Except for Damon... who's probably fucking Matteo. The thought ignites a fire in me somewhere. The next blow to Flaere's broken body is a particularly vicious one. A drawn-out shriek of agony tears from his throat.

" _Wait, wait, stop!_ " He changes track, abruptly reverting to sniveling, terrified Flaere again. It's disorienting and _fucking weird_ like he's just trying anything to see what works on me. Well if he was paying attention, he'd know that it's _obedience._ He shuts his eyes at the next one homing in on his face. But nothing happens. He opens them again, blinking at the cue stick an inch before his nose.

"Are you ready to obey me?"

"Y-Yes..." he says in a tiny voice.

"No half answers." I raise the stick threateningly. His pupils dilate in terror.

"Yes, Master, I'm sorry, Master!" I smile down at him. Turns out I had to hit the reset button a little harder than I thought, but hey, it works! Flaere's fair complexion bruised so easily. Black and blue and angry purple splashed over muscular limbs. A trickle of blood from his cut lip. I always thought his pastel skin palette needed some contrast.

"Good bitch." He relaxes minutely as I put the cue stick down. "Now tell me everything you know about Damon."

"Damon is a... monster. He's worse than you _._ " He shoots me a reproachful look. "He gets off on pain. Other people's pain, that is. I spent months with him... But it felt like a lifetime." A lump in his throat blocks passage for his words until he can overcome it, swallowing heavily. "Rewards are pain, punishment is more pain; it doesn't matter what you do in Damon's harem, you're going to suffer either way." I try not to let it show but I can feel the panic building up in my chest. Matteo is with this man.

"He made me walk on all fours, he used me like furniture, he made me service his harem keepers and his personal hobby was seeing how much he could fit in me!" Flaere's crying again but not because of the caning I gave him. "If I dared to disobey him, or gag or cum too quickly or even when he was just bored of fucking me, he'd tie me up for _days_ . Blindfolded, plugged full of I didn't even _know_ and he used this horrible ring gag so anyone could just walk in and stick their filthy, unwashed, _disgusting_ cock in my mouth. I would pray that he'd bring me a fucking _glass of water!_ I would _pray to God!_ I wasn't a person to him! No one is." He hisses, lowering his face. "He doesn't care about anything and he doesn't love anyone. He's a _monster_."

Speaking of which, there's a hole where my stomach was. A fathomless, whistling, abysmal hole. Flaere has broken down in front of me, tears pooling on the ground beneath his face. His strong, shapely body shakes with sobs and the bruises I dealt out. I know Matteo is suffering. And looking down at Flaere, I find the broken product of Damon's training. A man who fears restraint so much that he can't even tolerate _clothing_. Flaere survived. But what is it going to do to Matteo?

Flaere sniffs when I crawl behind him.

"Wh-What are you doing?" he asks fearfully. "I told you everything I know!"

"Ssshh..." I hush him, taking a moment to appreciate the elaborate tattoo splashed over his back. Starting just above his ass, a beautiful spray of fire in melded red, orange and gold billowing up to the base of his neck. The ropes groan slightly as I position him above my throbbing cock.

"Why are you doing this?!" he shrieks. I hold him steady by the underside of his thighs. He screams the entire time as my head breaks his seal. I see the truth in Flaere's allegations almost immediately. Time tightened him up, but your muscles never quite forget a stretching like that. Even with my size and girth, I could force him to take me all at once; wouldn't be much discomfort in it for him either. But I go slow, letting him take each inch of length in his own time. About four inches in, his screaming stops and he's just breathing deeply, processing the feeling bit by bit. When I bottom out in his heaving asshole, I stop and give him time, filling in the gap by leaning forward and placing soft kisses at his neck. He turns his head slightly, cooing in surprised delight. Kisses - he probably hadn't experienced much of them in his time with Damon.

When I think he's ready, I gently begin to lever him up and down on my pole. He continues his strategy of deep breaths but his exhales start to get more heated and throaty as I go on. It isn't long before he cries out, splattering the pool table with his ejaculate.

"I-I came too fast," he mumbles some remnant rule of Damon's.

"You came because you liked it." I plant another kiss between his shoulder blades. "Your Master wanted you to like it." This is clearly new to him.

"You wanted me to-?" He trails off in confusion. Further confusion when I reach up with my pocket knife and cut him loose.

Flaere sprawls to the fuzzy green of the pool table on all fours. The ropes are still wrapped about his body like a kinky suit but his movement isn't restricted anymore. Wait. What have I done?! I realize a little too late that he's a hand to hand specialist and if he decides he still doesn't like me, the next balls he pockets will be mine!

 _...Eight, nine, ten._ At the end of my count, Flaere still hasn't killed me, unraveling his bindings instead. That's as good a sign as any... I turn him around and pull him into my lap again, this time with him facing me, his legs extending off to rest on the table behind my back. He looks down in slight embarrassment at our cocks in the same space, rubbing up against each other. He's gone semi-hard again; I never went soft to begin with. With my hands on his hips, I guide him over my shaft again and let him plunge straight down. He gasps a little as I bottom out this time, his face pink. I think Flaere figured out that this position is meant to give him the reins. He takes them.

Bobbing on my cock already slickened with pre, Flaere hits the accelerator. Gasps and moans ring out over the table as he jackhammers away on me, going hog wild on his own prostate. My hands latch onto his hips, more for my own support than his!

The pool room once echoing back his agony is now filled with passionate cries:

"Rayce! _Rayce!_ " I cut him off when I pull him in for a kiss. He goes nuts for it, sinking his tongue into my mouth and his hands in my hair. We break off with a wet sound; he shoves me flat on my back to the table. Hands on my chest, he spreads his legs wide and rides like a cowboy. His body arcs in ecstasy as he pounds his button again and again and again and a-fucking-gain. Watching him builds up the heat in my own loins; his furnace may be used but it's still hot, hot, _hot!_ I announce my orgasm to the swinging light above us.

But my partner is still going. I wince slightly, sensitive and overstimulated as Flaere bobs on my spent cock. I shield my eyes from the light that suddenly seems too bright.

"We should just kill him." _Huh?_ I peer over the sandy beige of my arm, baffled. Flaere's eyes are closed as he grinds on me. I must be hearing things. Ardent moans spill from his lips as he runs his hands over himself. I can't look away as he toys with his nipple and masturbates gently with his other hand, having sex with himself more than with me. His smooth brow furrows and he lets out a soft whimper.

"He's a Gunner, you can't do that. Who cares who he is, we already know _what_ he is. He hurt us, he hurt us, _he hurt us-_ " He strokes himself harder, rougher with each word. This feels wrong. My skin crawls. Flaere lets out an erotic cross between a cry and a moan to accompany his climax, spilling seed over his hand. Grey eyes reveal themselves slowly to peer at me with a sex-addled expression as he sinks his sticky fingers in his mouth, licking them clean. So steamy I'm starting to break a sweat. "But he's sooooo cuuuute..." Flaere moans, running his other hand through his orange hair. At this point, I'm paralyzed underneath him, processing everything slowly. _Unpredictable._ I break into a cold sweat. My heart starts to pound as I finally realize: _Oh god..._ He's not all _there_ , is he?

Flaere laughs abruptly and says,

"He'll look even cuter splattered all over the walls." My eyes go wide at that; I rear up on my elbows.

"F-Flaere-" I stammer. His entire face shifts on a dime, from mirth to wide-eyed, innocent fright. He looks shocked to actually see me here, whispering,

"You'd better run, Rayce Gunner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you broke it. But uh, not in that way you wanted.


	8. Twenty Thousand Leagues Out of Yours

Crazed laughter chases me down the hall. I can't stop - don't _dare_ stop - or it'll be the last thing I do!

"What's the matter, Gunner?" Flaere howls down the halls after me. "Don't you want to _play?_ Just you and me... Winner gets to be on top!" he laughs.

"Over my dead body!" I shout back.

"Oh trust me, I intend to..." What the fuck, what the fuck, _what the actual fuck?!_ A panicked shriek escapes my throat. They told me to break soldiers, but they didn't tell me there would be something _terrifying_ inside! How was I supposed to know there was such a thing as going too far?! Casting a glance over my shoulder, I see Flaere's shadow looming into the hallway. Hear the sound of scraping metal and quickly make out the shape of the crowbar he drags along on the tiles behind him. Well that's just great, where did he find _that?_ He catches sight of me and then he's sauntering this way. "There you are! You're being such a spoilsport..." If the sport involves smashing my goddamn _skull_ open, can you really blame me?! I throw myself around a corner in a desperate attempt to shake him off. Another empty gray hall studded with doors upon doors just like the last one and the one before that; I'm getting nowhere. _Hide._ I need to hide.

I throw open the first unlocked door I find and slip inside, wincing at how hard I slammed it in my panic. The sound of a chair squeaking makes my heart leap into my throat. I'm not alone. Jun backs up against the wall. He's wearing a simple navy blazer and crisp white shirt, his violet hair braided at his back.

"What are you doing in here?!" There's a glint of fear in Jun's beautiful brown eyes, but forgive me if that doesn't exactly send me running for my sword and suit of armor... I'm done playing the hero for this guy!

This isn't even a bedroom, it's a security room, I realize as I look around. Jun's swivel chair spins slowly, illuminated in the blue glow of a holo screen segmented into camera views from all over HQ.

"What are you doing here, spying on everyone?" I shoot Jun's question right back at him.

"I work here, moron." A thud from outside makes us both shut up. "You led him right to me!" Jun flies back to his control panel, tapping frantically on the screen. I can't believe this.

"You saw everything and you didn't even try to get help?" I demand.

"As if I care," Jun snarls at the screens, scanning them rapidly with his keen brown eyes. "One less master in this glorified dungeon, one less problem."

"I rescued you!" I burst out.

"And you think that entitles you to sex." I'm taken aback, blinking. "Well how about my _eternal gratitude_ instead? Now leave me alone!" I feel gypped. Jun's expression lights up when he zeroes in on Flaere in a camera. "There he is," he says. He enlarges the section until I can see the terrifying figure of Flaere stalking down the hall.

"He's going to find us!"

"Not if I can help it." Jun narrows his eyes at the screen. The strategist vs the psychopath, who would win? I chew on my lip nervously because the answer could mean my life. Jun taps a button and a dim red light turns on behind Flaere, pulsing hypnotically like a lure. The light diverts Flaere from the hall that I escaped down. He walks cautiously in the other direction towards the ominous red glow with his crowbar raised. "Here, fishie, fishie..." Jun murmurs, eyes trained on the screen. I see a sudden glint in them; he smacks a button to bring down a solid security door right behind Flaere, cutting off his path. "I've got you now." The corner of Jun's lips curls into a smile. Jun swipes the screen decisively and a second door comes down, quarantining Flaere in that section of the hall.

Flaere bangs his fists on the door, then sprints across the hall to hit the other one with his crowbar and screams. Agitated, he paces restlessly up and down the sealed corridor, like a caged _lion_.

"Gunner? Where did you go?" he whimpers as if he's reverted to his sweet old self. He can't keep up the facade for long, his voice getting louder and more angry, "Rayce? Rayce! _Rayce! RAYCE GUNNER!_ " Leveling off at the top of his lungs and then he just _swings._ The crowbar buries itself deep in the wall. Wrenching it back out in a cloud of plaster, he strikes again and again, tearing out drywall with the brutally sharp end until he's left a gaping hole behind. My stomach turns as my brain goes off on unhelpful tangents all related to him getting his hands on me. How can _nobody_ hear this? Then it occurs to me: they can hear it alright, they just don't dare tangle with Flaere.

"Rabid mutt..." Jun mutters. He taps another button to turn on the fire sprinklers. Flaere's clothes are soaked through in an instant. He drops to the carpet, making frustrated noises and dragging his hands through his wet hair. The flashing light illuminates Flaere's face in red as he lifts it slowly to the camera, staring right back at us. My breath catches in my throat. Jun's adam's apple bobs slightly.

"Did you make a new friend, Rayce?" he whispers. Suddenly, the crowbar is flying towards the lens, then we lose the picture to static.

"Fuck!" It puts a chink in Jun's composure. He locks the door to the security room, which he should have done ages ago!

"What now?" I whisper urgently.

"Now we wait," Jun says so quietly I almost can't hear him even in the dead silence. "We wait and hope that Flaere returns to his senses." _Great_ plan! But since I can't come up with a better one, I go along with it.  
Jun and I stew in the small, dark room, glued to the screen. Flaere doesn't pop up on any of the other angles. My violet-haired companion says at length,

"I think we're good to-" The end of his sentence comes out in a high-pitched shriek when the air conditioning vent grille pops right off and clangs against the floor.

"Oh god," I gasp out. We clump together in the opposite corner as Flaere slides out of the vent and into the room, landing on the tips of his toes with a bounce that would be cute if he wasn't _fucking terrifying_. My heart pounds in my chest. "Flaere, we can talk about this-!" I try to disarm him with a reassuring tone and a hand held up in surrender - but I'm really slipping my other hand furtively to my weapon. I unclip the baton from my belt and swing.

Flaere's reflexes are lightning fast - his arm is up in a second to stop my whip short; it wraps around his hand instead and discharges. My relieved grin fades when I realize it's _not working_. Eyes closed, Flaere takes a deep breath and squeezes the whip in his fist, trembling only slightly. Then he jerks back on it. The handle slips right out of my grip to wind up in his. Well, fuck.

"H-How about we try that talking thing again?" I smile winningly. But he isn't paying attention, sizing up my weapon.

"Interesting," he muses, "But I think I'll stick with the classics." I watch despairingly as my baton lands, in the corner where I can't get to her. I have bigger things to worry about as Flaere taps the crowbar against his palm, a devilish grin on his face. "Oh, hello Aoki, I didn't see you there."

"Take him!" Jun thrusts me forward as a sacrifice. "He's the one you're really here for! He's the one who hurt you; I didn't even _touch_ you!"

"He saw the whole thing on his creepy surveillance screen and he didn't lift a finger to help you!" I grasp at straws desperately. "B-Besides, didn't you say he deserves what he gets?" Pathetic clamoring fills the security room as Jun and I attempt to bargain our way out of death.

"Enough! There's only one way to settle this..." Flaere's ultimatum makes us both shut up. His shoulders lift and drop in a casual shrug. "I'll just kill both of you." The wicked edge of the crowbar glints in cool blue as he lifts it high in the air; the two of us scream. You know, I always knew I'd meet a terrible fate at the hands of a stripper... I just thought it would be gonorrhea or something!

My eyes are squeezed shut: I'm ready for it - or as ready as you can ever be for death by blunt force trauma. But the blow never comes. Blinking cautiously, I find Flaere standing fixated in front of the surveillance screen, the crowbar lax in his grip.

"Sylphos..." He touches the screen longingly. Sure enough, Sylphos is in one of the camera views, stepping into what looks like his bedroom.

"Oh look, my favorite show is on..." Jun mutters.

"You have cameras in people's bedrooms?" I'm starting to have flashbacks of all the less-than-camera-friendly stuff I've been doing in there...

"Ha," Jun snorts. "Only his. Don't worry, Gunner, you have nothing to show." His lips tug into a wry smile.

In any case, Flaere has reverted from psycho killer to his more mellow persona: the one with a massive crush on Sylphos. He watches the tall sniper make his way across the room, stripping off the hair tie that regulates his wild mane as he goes. Cerulean curls tumble down his back, ending just below his ass. Then he starts shedding clothes too. Okay, now I'm interested. Even Ice King Jun joins us, dipping below the panel to produce a hidden bottle of whiskey. He and alcohol never seem too far apart... More and more of Sylphos' coffee-toned skin is exposed to the camera until he's left in only compression briefs. He doesn't stop there.

I whistle loudly as he steps out of them. Don't get me wrong, I still think he's an asshole, but _damn_ does he look good with his mouth shut. Flaere has gone quiet and beet red - wanna bet this is the closest he ever got to seeing the real thing? Sylphos flips down on his bed. His tan hands travel languidly across his toned body, arriving at last at his crotch. My face is getting hot too; I think I know what time it is. Curling his fingers around his cock, Sylphos pumps himself and twists a nipple simultaneously. My dick stands at attention in my pants - yep, that'll do it. Jun is already at it like this is just routine, slipping a hand in his own pants to jerk off as he takes a swig from his bottle.

"Damn, that's a piece of work," I comment.

"Don't talk about him like that..." Flaere looks embarrassed.

"Oh I didn't realize he was your _boyfriend._ " Jun flashes him a mean little grin. He only ever smiles if it's at the expense of someone else. "You don't know the first thing about him, do you?"  

"That's not true!" Flaere argues. Maybe Jun shouldn't be poking the bear that just tried to maul us, but I'm starting to think he has a point. My eyes get wide.

"Wait, what's that?" I ask urgently. As Sylphos' pecker hardens and rises out of the way, I see something underneath it... Something that shouldn't be there. _But that's impossible._ Flaere turns quickly back to the screen but Jun just smiles knowingly. I squint at the pixelated footage in disbelief. Where his balls should be there's just... A _slit._

"Is that..." Flaere trails off. I don't need to answer him when Sylphos reaches down to plunge his fingers in, but I do anyway.

"He's got a pussy!" I exclaim, "He's a _shemale!_ "

"The non-horribly offensive term would be 'intersex'," Jun rolls his eyes slightly. Pretty funny that the most frigid bitch I know is preaching political correctness to me, but I'm just gonna let that one slide because _holy crap!_ I lean in eagerly, watching Sylphos jerk off as he fingers himself vigorously, his entire body heaving like a bitch in heat on the bed of his blue hair. He moans softly and turns his face, wearing an expression of ecstasy as he pants at the sheets.  

"Oh my god..." Flaere neatly sums up my feelings.

"Can you... Can you get a better angle?" I ask Jun.

"You dogs..." Jun snickers but he's already on it. He uses the control panel to walk the spy drone on the wall, coming around the corner to view Sylphos between the spread V of his legs. This is even better: a head-on shot of his wet fingers thrust deep into himself - at least it is until Sylphos' stunned eyes land on the drone.

"Fuck-!" The pistol on his bedside table is in his hand in second. The loud 'bang' of a gunshot and then the signal is gone.

"Oh come on!" Jun hammers the panel. "Those drones are expensive, you know!"

Show's over, folks. We're scarcely outside the security room before an impossibly strong arm locks around my neck from behind. Turns out this show's just getting started!

"Mmmph!" I beat my fists on it but my assailant has a grip like steel. I see two others dragging off a struggling Flaere, so what chance do I have at freedom?

Our short, disorienting trip ends in a bedroom - of course, why wouldn't it? My attacker shoves me down on my knees and I see Flaere and Jun on either side of me. Leaning against the wall in front of me is Sylphos, fully dressed again. His friends who brought us here gather at his side: every single one of them is totally jacked, muscles bulging under their uniforms. Just their haircuts alone tell you they mean business: serious, minimal maintenance styles buzzed close to the scalp, except for Sylphos who stands in the middle, glaring down at me with those toxic yellow eyes.

"That'll be twenty each for the show," he says sarcastically.

"I'm guessing you make all your money off concessions."  

"I consider myself a non-profit." A gun is directed at my head. "Doing a service to the nation and all that."

"It was all Jun's idea!" I blurt out.

"Try not to wet your pants, soldier boy..." he chuckles, shaking his head. That's a weird comment coming from a fellow soldier boy.

"As opposed to..."

"Wow, you really _don't_ know anything about military." He looks at me, unimpressed. His friends snicker like lackeys cozying up to a schoolyard bully just so they don't end up on the receiving end. Now that I'm looking closer, I notice that the shade of camo they wear looks a little different, with more tan tones in it.

"We're Marines." Sylphos finally spells it out for me.  

" _Marines?_ " I repeat, gawking.

"Semper fi," Sylphos says tauntingly, then grins at his colleague. "This is the guy I was telling you about. They'll just let anyone in the army these days."

"As long as they're cute, eh?" One of the other Marines tugs my cheek until it hurts. I pull away sharply, glaring.

"Watch it," I snap, then I remind Sylphos, "Doesn't matter. I still own your contract." His friends burst out laughing; he just looks amused.

"He probably doesn't even know."

"Know what?" I narrow my eyes. Sylphos puts on the biggest, nastiest, smuggest grin I've ever seen.

"I outrank you, Gunner. And that means you can't touch me." Well this sniper is just full of surprises, isn't he!

"Yeah." Sylphos' friend jabs me in the chest with his rifle, making me fall back on my rear. "Sterling eats ranks for breakfast, so sit the fuck down, soldier boy." I am _not_ letting this guy intimidate me! I get back on my feet at once.

"Who gives a fuck about ranks?" The clicking of safeties coming off as every marine whips out a rifle to direct it at my head. I freeze. Sylphos arches an eyebrow.

"Well gee, maybe _you_ should, Gunner."

"Raayyyyce..." Flaere whines, anxious.

Jun says quickly under his breath, "If you know what's good for you-"

"What should we do with these horny kids, Sterling?" His friend asks. I find myself sweating in anticipation of the answer. Sylphos reclines against the wall, just studying me a while and enjoying my discomfort. Finally he sighs,

"You guys get some sleep. I'll take care of this."

Sylphos waits until the other marines have gone to fix us with a venomous glare.

"Do you think I'm some kind of webcam bimbo here for your entertainment?" he demands coldly.

"...No...?" I say unconvincingly. He really isn't helping his case when he starts unbuttoning his pants. Not that I'm complaining! Sylphos slips them off like he's stripteasing - _hallelujah._ "This is what you wanted to see, right?" His expression is frigid. "Let's aaaall just gawk at Sylphos Sterling, the _freak_ with the pussy!"

"I don't think you're a freak, Sylphos..." Flaere pipes up.

"Nobody asked you!" Sylphos cuts him off sharply, barely qualifying him for a glance before turning his focus back on me. "I might have a cunt, but I'm still twice the man you are..." He wrenches me forward by the collar. "I _worked my ass off_ to earn my rank and you just waltz in, fresh off the boat, and get promoted to First Sergeant?" Gives me a violent shake. "I graduated sniper training - top of my class! What are your qualifications? Sticking your dick where it doesn't belong?"

"You should try it sometime." I grin.

"That's the best idea you've had all night."

Sylphos shoves me down on my knees. His fingers dig into my hair; the sniper yanks me closer. I realize what he wants when his dick is inches in front of my face and turn my cheek. I was offering him advice, not my services...

"Not happening," I say. Sylphos smiles down at me as if at a disobedient child.

"If you eat your meat, I might let you have dessert." He lifts his cock slightly, giving us a tantalizing glimpse of his chocolate brown puss. It _does_ look delicious... Jun swallows hard. Seeing it in person is a whole different experience. Flaere is all red again. My mouth goes slightly dry. All I have to do is suck one cock and then I get to eat him out? It almost sounds worth it. I'm simultaneously revulsed and magnetically attracted to his grab bag of parts.

"Of course if you're not interested, I could always ask Flaere," Sylphos says nonchalantly. The carrot-top soldier stares at him eagerly. Flaere is a fanboy, a cute one, but Sylphos doesn't want cute. He doesn't want affection. He wants what I have: name. Rank. _Power._

"Fine..." Of course, I'm doing a great job demonstrating any of that by caving to my baser desires.. "But you'd better not shortchange me." I hold him and have a glaring contest with his one-eyed snake. Ugh, _blowjobs._ How does this go again? My tongue snakes out to lick the tip gingerly.

"It's a cock not a lollipop, Gunner," Sylphos snarks, "Do you know how to eat or should I teach you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, pushing deep in my mouth. It feels all kinds of wrong - Rayce Gunner doesn't sub for anyone! At least I'm trying to remind myself of that fact as Sylphos hammers into my warm cavern. His hand buried in my hair guides me almost all the way to the hilt with each thrust; he's not going to let me shortchange him either. He frowns at the base of his cock left out in the cold. _What is he-!_ I cough when he knocks at the back of my throat. Hands on his thighs, I try to push away, but he skewers me with a sharp tug on my hair, burying deep in my throat. My eyes water; I can't breathe!

Sylphos moans, so at least _someone_ is enjoying this. Gripping me by the jaw, he tilts my face to smirk at my wet eyes and my lips kissing his crotch.

"Well aren't you adorable..." He ruffles my hair patronizingly. I almost bite him but I remind myself why I'm doing this: _Do it for that sweet pussy, Rayce._ So I grit my teeth and bear it. Well, not literally, that would be counterproductive... But he's gonna make me work for it as he picks up the pace. It gets a lot worse before it gets better. Sylphos spelunks my throat like he's looking for treasure down there. I squeeze my eyes shut as if it might help distract me, but all it does is intensify the sensation of my mouth being violated. Well if I'm going to be facefucked, I'm doing it on my own terms!

Sylphos gasps aloud when I plunge two fingers into his wet snatch.

"I-I didn't say you could touch that-" So why isn't he stopping me? I grin knowingly on his cock, bobbing aggressively as I rail against his g-spot. It's working: his cries get louder and more raw until I finally feel him shoot, emptying his load down my throat. Swallowing politely, I pull off his limpening tool. I think I've successfully reversed the roles here. Now Sylphos is the one gasping desperately, bright red, while I get to sit back, relax, and just wait for him to beg for it.

Sylphos can't even look me in the eye. So he looks away, blushing deeply as he mutters.

"You gonna eat me out or what?"

That's all the invitation I need. I take Sylphos down on the bed and spring on top of him in the same movement. Lifting his cock out of the way, I drink in the sight. His mocha slit is fully engorged, drooling lubrication onto the sheets in slick beads. You've gotta be kidding me; they're self lubricating too? These things are _amazing!_

I just want to tear into it without a second thought, but I slow down. I want to enjoy this - I _earned_ it after all. I dip two fingers into his fragrant pot of juices and use it to fingerpaint his plump pussy lips, scissoring sensually around the rim. They open up hungrily like the wet, sticky mouth of a whore begging for more where that came from. Cocks may be able to signal what they want, but pussies know how to _get it._ So I give him what we both want, thrusting both fingers back into his greedy snatch.  

"Gunner..." Sylphos gasps aloud, arching slightly on the sheets as I piston in and out.

Jun whistles low, filming with his phone.

"No videos," Sylphos shoots him a glare.

"But you were _made_ for the screen..." the professional voyeur chuckles, zooming in on the action. Flaere watches too, quiet, but he hasn't moved from his position kneeling on the floor. Let's give our audience a show! I dive into Sylphos' wet folds. He smells _incredible_ down here. I lap him up but there's no way I could go as fast as he can produce, overflowing with sweet femcum. It's driving me crazy and I give him a taste of his own medicine when I twist my tongue into his slit.

"Motherfucker!" I hear him curse.

I devote my tongue to pumping in and out of his muff but my fingers have nothing to do... Until I get a wicked idea: I might not know a whole lot about fucking women, but I borrow a line from the book on fucking men... I sink both fingers into his asshole, hunting around a bit. _There's_ his prostate. I stroke it lovingly. He bucks; his cries get raw - I'm overloading his system! Strong mahogany thighs lock down around my head, trembling as he grips the sheets. I know he's close. Then I know I'm right when he squirts at me, his pussy spasming in climax. Sylphos looks down at me immediately, embarrassed. I lift my face from his snatch, licking his juices off my lips with a knowing grin.

Sylphos sits up, staring at me with a horrified look on his face; it's as if he just remembered who it was down there eating him out. Regret sets in. Usually it takes at least until the morning after! Sylphos shrinks back against the sheets as I crawl over him, staring down into his stunned yellow eyes with my hands on either side of his head. I smile.

"So you're a Marine. Congratulations. Top of the class - well, la dee da, I hope they threw you a fucking party. You started from nothing and now you're _Master Gunnery Sergeant Sylphos Sterling_ , but those ranks are all you have." I recite perfectly from memory, casually running my fingers through his hair. "Without them, you're nobody. You'll never be someone like me. A _Gunner_. And that's why you hate me."

His pistol is at my forehead in a split second, but I see his grip trembling and I'm starting to realize that the guns only come out when he needs something to hide behind.

"Get off me," he hisses, but he can't even look me in the eye long enough to say it. His kinky blue hair shields his face from view. I feel empowered now, reckless, even at the wrong end of his gun. I grip his face tightly and force him to look at me with those indignant yellow eyes.

"You can't touch me." Then they look intimidated. "You can't _touch me!_ " yelling it this time as I force a kiss on unwilling lips, dominating his mouth. His gun backed up and backed up some more until his arm fell uselessly back to the sheets. I grip his wrist and squeeze, forcing him to let it go. Sylphos gasps into my mouth, but I think it was more because of the feeling of my erection pressed up against his slit. I rub him eagerly as if I could start a fire between our hips, but he's too wet to allow that to happen. Pulling away, I give him a chance to catch his breath as I plant suckling kisses on his neck.

"I said, get off!" But it sounds a lot less threatening this time. He pushes half-heartedly against my chest.

"What did I tell you about short changing me?"

"I already gave you what you wanted, now _stop!_ " But there's nothing stopping me. At least that's what I thought before strong arms wrap around my middle and rip me off the marine.

Flaere tosses me down onto the carpet as easily as a ragdoll. I expect him to do one of two things: beat me to a bloody pulp or take my place on top of Sylphos. He does neither.

"He told you to stop," Flaere says quietly. Just my luck: Sylphos is one of the few lucky sluts that he actually protects. I just wonder why he picked someone who barely acknowledges his existence. Because he's _hot?_ Hot only goes so far...

"Yeah, whatever," I say irreverently, getting to my feet as I dust myself off. "I'll see you later, bitch." Sylphos flinches at the word.

I own every man in this room, so how come it doesn't feel like it? I may have learned a lot of things about Sylphos today, but that isn't getting me any closer to training him. The thought of his beefcake teammates fills me with dread as I leave the room. Fucking _Marines_ ; I thought Marines and soldiers were the same thing up until a few minutes ago!

 

###

 

"He's a _Marine!_ " I push through the door to Lieutenant Axel's bedroom to announce. He's probably asleep, like I fucking care. I see two shapes under his sheets and I wonder what poor, defenseless slave he's balls deep in this time. Purple silk sheets rustle, and of course they're silk, like a pimp's, as the pimp himself sits up in bed, dressed only in snug briefs. My face goes warm in spite of myself. He's actually kind of ripped. The impression of a six pack of abs shows under his taut skin, defined enough to show he cares about his appearance, but not so overdone as to give away an obsession with it. Just breezy self-confidence. His long, deep blue hair, usually so meticulously maintained, is mussed. I would have called it bedhead if I didn't know better from experience. The only way your hair gets _that_ messy is if someone's had their hands in it all night, screaming your name.

My partner in crime hardens semi-casually, as if seeking permission. _No, we are NOT attracted to Axel_ , I tell it severely. It promptly agrees with me and takes a dive when Cisco sits up in the spot next to him.

"What's the matter, babe?" he mumbles drowsily, touching Axel's shoulder. Then he sees me and we both freeze, stunned. "Rayce, what are you doing here?" he demands.

"What are _you_ doing here?!" Oh god, my brother is naked - and it's not like I've never seen his dick before, hell, he was pretty comfortable ruining Matteo in front of me with it. But here, in _Axel's_ bed... This is different. Cisco pulls the sheets up to his chest to cover his light beige skin but I can still make out the outline of his body under the silky purple and my mind is going places I never, ever wanted it to go...

"Can I help you, Gunner?" I look at Axel incredulously; I almost forgot he was even here, and I definitely forgot why _I'm_ here. He's enjoying this way too much, the sick bastard, grinning wide. Snatching at fleeting thoughts in my mind, I blurt out,

"Sylphos is a Marine. And he outranks me." That ruins his mood.

"Ah, Sterling..." he sighs, "And you're _sure_ there's nothing you can do about it, my love?" He balances Cisco's chin on the crook of his finger and tilts his face slightly. I almost lose my dinner, lunch and whatever else is in there.

"He answers to his drill sergeant, Thade Knotts," says Cisco, "The Marine Corps is responsible for his promotions; I have no control over it."  
"Then how do you expect me to break him if I can't even touch him?" I hiss. Axel just grins his reptile little grin.

"I never said your job was going to be easy, Gunner." A groan of frustration escapes me.

"What would the other Marines think if they knew his secret?" my brother wonders quietly. I try not to look directly at him when I respond,

"What do you mean..." I wonder how _he_ knows Sylphos' secret.

"It's in their motto: _'Semper Fidelis'_ . Always faithful. But he's been lying to them from the start. About who he is. About _what_ he is." My brother speaks in bullet points, always cutting straight to the chase.

My brow furrows as I consider the new information. Now that's interesting... He does seem to have a weird amount of self-loathing over his _most amazing_ feature _._

"I love the way you think..." Axel touches his forehead to Cisco's and then my brother is angling to receive him as they lock lips. _Dear god._ I watch it happen like a car crash as Axel climbs right back on him, already fetching his cock from inside his briefs. Cisco spreads. His knees appear on either side of Axel's hips while light fingers poke through blue hair.

"Leave, Rayce." Cisco's command wrenches me back to my senses. I bolt because I can't be here anymore. My brother is in bed with _Axel_ . My brother is _in bed_ with Axel.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, love triangle. Quadrilateral? Pentagon? Is anyone keeping count?
> 
> Woohoo, halfway point! If you haven't already, don't forget to show a little support, and hey, don't think I don't notice those kudos - you guys are the best. If you can, leave a comment too! I'm always incorporating your feedback to learn and grow as a writer.
> 
> Remember you can always find my update schedule on my [profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassiopeiaX/profile) (I'm pretty good at sticking to it too...)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> -KassiopeiaX


	9. Menage a Trouble

You'd be surprised at how spending all night on the run from a psycho killer and finding out your big brother is sleeping with the enemy just takes it out of you. Mostly that last thing. I drag my hands through my crimson hair, staring at the cream white of the cafeteria table until the color invades my brain and blanks everything else out. _Thinking_ is too hard right now.

"Rayce!" Oh great, and now _Finn's_ spotted me from across the cafeteria. I don't have time for brainless floozies. He sprints this way on skinny legs, clutching a container to his chest. "Rayce, are you okay?" he sounds worried. Then his green eyes widen slightly as he remembers, "I-I mean, _Master!_ " I'm not in the mood to dole out a punishment. I know, I can barely recognize myself either!

"What do you want?" I ask sharply.

"Y-You didn't come back to the room last night and I..."

"And you _what?_ You were _worried_ about me?" I challenge, "Be honest, if Flaere really did crack my skull open, you and your boyfriend would throw a party... Don't act like you actually care." I know the bitterness is directed at someone else, but since he's the only one here, I guess I'll unload it on this overly optimistic, naive blonde soldier instead. Finn retreats so far into his turtleneck that it garbles his reply into nonsense.

"I can't hear you!" I say irritably. But I definitely can when Finn suddenly bursts out,

"You don't have to be so mean to people who are just trying to _help you!_ " I just blink, stunned as Finn trembles slightly.

"And how exactly are you going to help me?"

Finn looks away, embarrassed. "I brought you something..." He holds up a tupperware box of cookies. "I baked them myself." He bakes too? What is guy doing in the army when he should clearly be in a church somewhere cooking for a bake sale and tempting the priest to sin? Incredulous, I take the container because, when a catholic offers you a tupperware box full of cookies, you accept it - that's one of the commandments right? Thou shalt eat baked goods?

The sweet smell of chocolate and vanilla has my mouth watering already as I pop the top and pull one out. It's the kind you make for children: a monster cookie studded with M&Ms. Is he trying to tell me something? The cookie isn't very elegant but it's warm and generous. Rough around the edges so you just know that it's homemade - the kind of cookies I never got to have. I stare at the candy pieces until the colors blur together into a portal that takes me back.Way back.  

 

###

 

To somewhere magical, you'd think, but nah. Just the faded leather couch in my old living room, covered in crumbs and a suspicious sticky spot in the corner that everyone knows not to sit on. Slouching with the kind of posture that Father would bark at me for, in the alien blue glow of the TV, I hammered the remote. Hundreds of shows scrolled by; I didn't stop to watch a single one.

At the sound of the door opening, I sprang straight up but it was Cisco who entered the doorway in his crisp, military prep school uniform.  

"Hey, Cissy." The worn leather welcomed me back as I reclined again with a sigh. He says nothing but his toned form filtered warm yellowish light from the hall into the synthetic blue of the living room. He hung his soft military hat up on a hook. The one beside it was starkly empty: Father was on a tour of duty. I knew that. I always knew that, so why did I still jump at the sound of the door?

As Cisco walked by, shaking his red hair out, he tossed a pack of M&Ms from the academy vending machine down on the couch beside me. I shovelled candy into my mouth, filtering out the blue ones with each scoop, until they were all that remained at the bottom of the pack. Cisco likes the blue ones - and _only_ the blue ones - he swears up and down that they taste different from the rest. The microwave dinged cheerfully. Cisco returned, this time in just his undershirt and uniform pants. He set a steaming styrofoam cup of instant noodles on the coffee table in front of me. The handle of a plastic fork stuck out the top. I felt the familiar, comforting depression in the seat when he fell into the spot beside me. He lifted a fork to his lips and blew steam away in curls.

I picked some random show: whatever the cursor happened to be hovering on. He never complained, no matter how awful or cliche the show happened to be, just eating silently in the seat next to me.

 

###

 

"You don't like the blue ones, huh?" Finn's sweet voice jars me back to the present. Stunned, I look down and realize I've been unconsciously picking out the blue M&Ms. I can't even stop myself; my eyes brim with tears in an instant. All this over a stupid cookie? I tear a bite out of it as if in revenge but it tastes so good that I end up forgiving it. "Rayce?" Finn stares into my eyes like a concerned boyfriend.

"You're... Too good for this place," I say haltingly, trying to wipe my face as subtly as possible.

"Rayce..."

"You can visit your _boyfriend_ every now and then. If you want." Just saying the word puts a sour taste in my mouth at the reminder that he _has_ one. I'm almost... _Jealous_ that I have to share. But the way Finn's entire face just lights makes it worth it just a little bit. Trent better be good enough for him. "Only because I'm sick of your whining." I add quickly, stuffing the rest of the cookie in my mouth before I say something dumb. Well, it would have to be dumber than sharing my slave with his boyfriend, so I'm probably in the clear.  

"Thank you," Finn says gratefully.   

Our tender reunion is cut short when a familiar figure abruptly but smoothly slides into the seat across the table from us. Finn and I just stare, shocked.

"Haven't you ever seen a guy eat before?" Flaere demands sharply. I quickly drop my gaze to the tupperware. If he thinks I'm sharing these cookies too, then he's got another thing coming... Flaere sighs, getting back to picking at his food. I have one hand on the handle of my baton. There can only be one reason why he's here: to finish what he started yesterday. But as I glance around the cafeteria, I start to notice the way the other soldiers look at him. It isn't good: distrustful glares fired into his back. Some people at the next table actually get up and move to another one further away. Flaere senses it, but pretends he doesn't. Cast out for being a schizophrenic with a body count. Fair enough! This is _advanced_ high school lunch table drama...

"So... How you doin'?" I make a ham-fisted attempt at conversation. Flaere shrugs, trying to find subliminal messages in his mashed potatoes.

"Nothing new." His charcoal eyes flick to meet mine. "It was nothing Damon hasn't done to me."

"Ah." Awkward scraping of tin cutlery.

"What about you?" he asks after some time.

"Can't complain." He chooses that moment to stab a defenseless sausage on his plate with his fork. I narrow my eyes at him.

I wish that were the most interesting development in the cafeteria. There's a disturbance at the entrance; everyone's turning in their seats and craning to look. My heart catches in my throat when I realize- What day is it today? Oh god,

"What day is it today?!" I actually burst out loud.

"F-Friday?" Finn replies, confused. And that means Damon. He struts into the cafeteria with a big, gloating grin on his face, holding a leash. That leads to...

"No." I can barely even hear myself as I rise from my seat. _Anything but that._

"Stop, Rayce!" Finn cries after me. But I'm already running. I skid to a stop at the circumference of the ring of people that has gathered around the harem Master and his new plaything. That is to say... Matteo.

I'm shocked that I could even still recognize it, the humiliated, tortured thing crawling by Damon's feet as my Matteo. The leash leads to a black leather collar from which dangles a silver dog tag marked. It says simply, 'Bitch'. Charming. Sure enough, he's been turned into a caricature of a dog: his hands and feet cinched into restrictive paw socks that render them completely useless. A tail attachment on a butt plug wags morbidly when he crawls, and a blindfold stained with tears makes sure that's all he _can_ do: crawl helplessly after his master. .

I lift my gaze to meet Damon's; he looks absolutely _thrilled_ with the reaction he's getting. Matteo may be the one on the floor, but Damon is doing this to torture _me_.

"What?" he taunts. His boot lands on Matteo's rear end so he can turn it to me. Across his asscheeks is written in permanent marker: 'Bad Dog'. "Don't you just love what I did with the place?"

"I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Rules are rules, Rayce." He smirks. I've half a mind to tear it right off his smug face when a fist grips my sleeve.

"Don't..." Finn. He shakes his head mournfully. For what Damon did. And for what we can't do about it. Damon looks over my shoulder, a malignant smile curling his lips. I'm vaguely aware of Flaere coming to a stop behind me.

"Ah, right," Damon nods bemusedly. "You're fucking my exes and rejects these days." Damon runs his lecherous eyes over his scantily clad body while Flaere makes every effort to stand his ground. But I see the tremble in his lip, the scared glint in his eyes. "Want an expert's advice on building your harem, Rayce?" Damon smiles at me. "Tie that one up. Fuck him with machines, hang him upside down in a closet... He's sexier when he's blind and crawling and begging for cock." Flaere's strategy quickly unravels and he looks like he wants to bolt. "He's sexier when you've fucked the voice right out of his throat..."

"Shut the hell up." I stand in front of him. Flaere may want to put a fork through my cock but no one deserves... _that._ Damon just smiles at me like I'm a child.

"You know your behavior only makes Matteo suffer, right?" An assault of deja vu hits me full in the face. Where have I heard that before? And then a smug little grin takes shape on Damon's face.

He picks up a glass of water from a table.

"Hey, bitch, you thirsty?" He lets the liquid spill to the floor in front of him. The animalistic desperation with which Matteo leaps for the sound of water... only to be snatched away again... It makes my heart ache. He claws at his throat desperately as Damon chokes him by the collar. Damon is showing off. Tormenting me.

"Stop!" I can't help but cry out.

"Stupid cunt!" Damon acts as if I haven't even spoken, hurling Matteo back to the tiling. He braces his boot against the other end of the plug, forcing it painfully deeper. Distorted cries of agony issue through a muzzle, cries that could barely be imagined as human.

"You're hurting him!"

"Did you forget that you're on a diet, bitch?" Damon taunts. He looks around at his eager audience. "Well didn't you hear that? My pet is thirsty!" When the muzzle comes off, it's an open invitation. Matteo gasps for air but doesn't get to enjoy it long as his client gets a handle on his collar, holding him steady as he thrusts into the ring of his mouth. He roughly facefucks Matteo to climax, shoots and moves out of the way for the next... and the next, and the next and the - they're using him like a fucking cum dumpster. I can do nothing but watch them violate him. I can't stop them when they decide to remove the plug and double team him. I can't say anything as he is pumped full of filth from both sides. And I hate it.

Damon watches too, but it isn't with the usual sadistic pleasure. His smile faded as soon as he stepped out of the spotlight, just observing what they do to Matteo with a kind of cold detachment.

By the time they're all done, I'm almost afraid to look. When I do gather up the courage, I wish I hadn't. Matteo is lying in a pool of white like the victim of a bizarre crime. A twitch tells me he's alive, but that's the nicest thing I can say about him right now. I don't know what I'm doing when I kneel by his side. My fingers find their way into his har. His hair... Damon cut it short. Somehow, it's the smallest things that make me feel the worst. Matteo cowers from my touch but I grab his wrists softly.

"Matteo? Matteo, it's me." Almost immediately, he throws himself into my chest with a  horrible, gut-wrenching sound.

"Rayce! Oh god, Rayce..." He sobs as he runs his paws over my face, my body, trying to hold on but he has nothing to hold on with.

"I'm sorry." My voice cracks.

"What do you think you're doing?" Damon demands. All of a sudden, Matteo is being dragged away again by the collar.

He puts up a wild fight, clawing at the ground, shrieking, "Let _go_ of me! Let me go! I won't go back! I'm _not_ going back with you!" Damon has to drag him away on the belly and the look on his face tells me this is not behavior he is accustomed to from his slaves. "You're only hurting him, Rayce!" Damon gasps out. But when he reaches over to get a better grip on his disobedient pet, Matteo flips over and aims a vicious kick at his shin.

"NO!"

"Goddammit!" Damon swears. He releases the leash to lean heavily on a table. Matteo is fighting back and I'm just standing here? Yeah, that doesn't sound right to me either.

"Rayce!" I ignore Finn's warning, yanking sharply on my sleeve to free myself before approaching the dungeon master.

"Hey Damon." He looks up just in time to greet my fist with his face.

Damon crashes back against the table as the audience erupts into cheers; sex or violence, that's all that gets their attention. They're chanting now, "Fight! Fight! _Fight!_ " And the white-hot adrenaline rushing to my head is telling me to deliver. Damon recovers himself quickly. He pounces right back at me and then we're going down to the unforgiving tiles. We roll over and over each other, locked in a dead heat. Neither one of us is strong enough to stay in control for too long.

At least that's what I thought until Damon comes out on top and seals his spot with a brutal punch. My breath escapes in a cry of agony; the entire side of my face _aches_. Squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of another blow, I hear him speak instead.

"What did you do to him?!" Damon whispers as high as he dares.

"What?" I look at him, cautious. He gives me a little shake by the collar as if that might rattle all the pieces into place.

"Matteo!" he says. His dark eyes are wide, searching mine and - it can't be - but... He looks desperate. "What did you do to my slave? He's... He's in love with you or something!" I feel my face grow warm.

" __ _'In love'?_ Well, I wouldn't say _that_ , exactly, but maybe-" Bashful words just spill from my lips.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Me? What's wrong with _you?_ "

"What's wrong with both of you?!" I don't know when he got here but Finn is looking down at us. "While you were arguing, they took Matteo!"

Damon and I are up in an instant. Sure enough, the spot where Matteo was is now empty.

"No, no, no, no, no-" Feverish whispering that I'm shocked isn't coming from me. I look at Damon in surprise as he drags a hand through his jet black hair.

"They went that way!" All Finn has to do is point and we're off like shots.

 

"Faster, whore! I swear I'll rip them out!" Goddammit! Would people stop calling him that?! I streak around the corner and the scene in front of me... Makes my blood _boil_. Well, we found Matteo but he's on his knees, choking on a soldier's cock. The bigger guy has his fingers hooked through Matteo's nipple rings, pulling on them in time with his thrusts. Blood makes thin streams down Matteo's naked torso. A few others loiter around waiting for the slot in his mouth to open up. They just assumed he was on offer, like all the others.

"Get your filthy dick out of his mouth!" I rip the guy right off of Matteo and follow up with a slug to the stomach to make the lesson stick.

"He's not for sale!" Damon adds, but surprises me by diving to Matteo's side instead of joining me. He tears off the blindfold and puts an arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as he catches his breath. Meanwhile, the men back up.  

"G-Gunner?"

"Listen to me very carefully." I turn to them slowly. "If I _ever_ see you try to touch him, throatfuck him, just plain fuck him... If I see you so much as get _hard_ around him, I will tear your balls off with my bare hands and make you swallow them!" The imagery alone is enough to send them running.

When I return to Damon, he's still holding Matteo - so that wasn't a hallucination -  and is dabbing at the blood with a napkin. Almost _tenderly_ . The scene doesn't sit right in my churning stomach. This is _not_ Damon. I look to Matteo for answers but he has his eyes closed in the moment of peace. Breaths come in short puffs between parted lips.

"Are you okay?" Damon asks quietly.

I reply, "Well my face still hurts no thanks to-"

"Not _you!_ " he snaps at me before facing Matteo again.

"I'm fine," Matteo finally speaks but there's something aggressive in his curtness.

"I see how this is," I say bitterly. "So he's your favorite slave and you think you can just torture him into falling in love with you? Well I hate to break it to you, but that's not how it works."

"Oh really?" The dungeon master looks at me with a challenge in his eyes.

"You're _nothing_ to him but a pervert and a monster," I hiss.

"Well that's funny because last time I checked, we were engaged!!" Damon yells at me. The statement is so ridiculous that I think he just said it to throw me off. But there isn't a hint of humor on his face.

"What... What are you talking about?" I stammer, on the backfoot.

"You heard me. We're engaged." He wraps his arms around Matteo and pulls him in closer. "Matteo is my fiance." He brands Matteo with his words and it's burning a hole into my unwilling brain.

"You _pressured_ him into an engagement." I reason. I don't believe it. I can't. I _won't!_ "You're sick, Damon! You think you can just toy with people like that?" I'm talking fast, too fast - my baton is in my hand too fast, crackling with electricity. "Well I won't let you!" Eyes locked on Damon's grim expression, I think I might really kill him this time.   

"Rayce." The sound of Matteo's voice cuts through the haze of confusion to get to me. I stare incredulously into his deep blue eyes as they finally open. Only his voice could calm my rattled psyche that fast. "I know this is new to you, so I'll explain it slowly. There are two people involved in an engagement: one who proposes... and one who accepts." And shatter it just as quickly.

"What are you saying?" I ask, or maybe I'm begging.

"You know exactly what I'm saying." But he offers me nothing with his frigid eyes.

The intercom chooses that moment to go off.

"Soldiers, report to the southeast range for training." General Weiser's gruff voice issues through the halls.

Damon helps Matteo off the floor. Let me repeat that: _Damon helps Matteo off the floor._ I watch, shocked as they walk down the hall together without another word. I keep expecting Matteo to look back at me. To turn, even just a little bit. Something, anything to tell me that what I heard _just isn't true._ But he doesn't.

 

###

 

 _It doesn't make sense._ The pull up bar bobs up and down in my field of vision. The bar and my fists locked down on it, veins straining just beneath the surface: that's all I can see, and everything after that is just an unfocused blur. _It just doesn't make any goddamn sense._ I blast through the pull up drills, right through my arms shrieking at me to stop. I've run out of people to lash out at, so I'll take it out on myself. But my body lets me down too as my arms give out. My feet land heavily on the dirt.

"28, it's a new personal best." I look up at Jun who spoke, scribbling down notes with his stylus on a tablet. He wears a simple dress shirt and pants and his violet hair is rolled into a neatly braided bun. Don't get me wrong, I love looking at him. "Although that's not saying a whole lot." Aaaand there it is. He has to qualify even the tiniest of nice things he says with a sneaky little barb at the end, like a scorpion's tail.

He moves as if to go on to the next soldier.

"Wait a second!" I grab him by the thin shoulder and spin him back around like a revolving door, catching the other with my other hand. "You knew, didn't you? About Damon and Matteo?" I demand.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His thin, brown eyes stay trained on me, unblinking.

"You knew they were engaged!" I shake him slightly by the shoulders and then crush him up against my chest to remind him who he belongs to... Or maybe just to get a reaction at this point. Jun brought up the tablet at the last minute, putting an inch of electronics between us.

"Even if I knew that, I don't see why I should have to tell you," he says coolly.

"I'm your _master!_ " I snap.

"You didn't order me to tell you."

"I can't order you to tell me something I don't know that you know! I don't even know what you know!"

"I don't know what you don't know about what I know."

"I... You..." The sentences twist my brain into knots and all that comes out is a frustrated cry. I release him. He lightly dusts off his shoulder and smoothes out the crinkles.

"Why did he say yes? To _Damon?_ " The name makes my lip curl in disgust.

"Perhaps Damon can do more than 28 pull ups," Jun says casually.

"Listen here, you little bitch..."

I'm distracted when a forest green Humvee pulls into the courtyard, kicking up clouds of dust. The massive wheels crunch through the gravel as they roll to a stop just feet in front of the unsmiling figure of General Weiser. A man drops out of the driver's seat. Huge and muscular, he has dark, dark skin and a jaw that seems set into a permanent scowl. His hair is buzzed down to microscopic levels and a wide-brimmed hat is perched on his angular head.

His muscles ripple under his uniform as he walks up to Weiser. He draws himself sharply to a stop, both legs placed neatly next to each other. They stare each other down like a pair of military statues erected at the site of a bloody battle somewhere. The big man's face splits suddenly into a grin.

"Weiser."

"Knotts!" Weiser smiles warmly from his beard as they clasp each other by the arm and pull in briefly to exchange a pat on the back. Knotts... Where have I heard that name before?

"So these are the new recruits." Knott's smile fades as fast as it came on as he sweeps the courtyard with an unforgiving gaze. "It's worse than we thought."

"See what I have to work with?" Weiser folds his arms, amused.

"Men!" Knotts calls sharply to the truck.

I groan aloud when marines file out the back of the Humvee. Great, these guys again. And that must mean this is their drill sergeant, Thade Knotts... "Pick it up ladies, we don't have all day! Don't you _embarrass_ me in front of the soldier boys! Attention!"

"Sir, yessir!" The marines line up in in a disciplined row, arms straight at their sides. I find Sylphos quickly enough. Only a flash of his light cerulean blue hair is visible, the rest tucked under a camo cap. He doesn't meet my eyes. Not like he's scared, more like he doesn't care enough to. He might have already forgotten everything about me. Knotts addresses us next,

"Now your general invited me here to show you what a real soldier looks like." Oh come the fuck on... Angry murmuring rises from the ranks but if anything, our reaction only amuses Knotts.

"You don't like that. Good. I was starting to wonder if you had any ambition at all. So if you think you have what it takes to beat a Marine, then we're taking volunteers." Without even telling us what for, Knotts barks at the Marines, "Sterling! You're up!"

Yes sir." Sylphos walks up to one of the pull-up bars and takes his place under it. Ha! I bet I could beat him at pull ups! Girls are supposed to be bad at those, right? And he's got half the parts he needs to be one.

"I'll volunteer!" I step up to the bar beside him and see his lips twist slightly.  So he does remember me after all. Refusing to be outdone, Damon joins us at a third one.

"Me too."

"The three of you will have one minute to do as many pull ups as you can," Jun explains, "So try to at least last the full minute, Gunner."

"Fuck you," I shoot back.

"Time starts... Now!" All three of us hop up on the bars.

Come on... Come _on!_ I grit my teeth, straining to just get one more inch on the bar to a backdrop of soldiers yelling my name and egging me on. It doesn't happen as my arms suddenly give out and I fall straight to the ground, landing on my side this time. I didn't even top my personal best. Damon drops only a few seconds behind me, hands on his knees as he pants at the ground. Disappointed noises rise from the audience. They're booing at us.

"That's the best you got?" Sylphos taunts from the bar. He hoists himself up and over it until he can curl his legs up and stand on it. How is he even doing that? I stare up at him in disbelief. "I always knew you were a dick, but I didn't think you were a pussy too!" The irony of him calling _me_ a pussy...

"This is an embarrassment," Knotts agrees, "Not one of you would make the cut for the Marine Corps."

Just then, a figure steps through the front of the crowd, hushing them all as he goes like a prophet of pull ups. Flaere walks right up to the pull up bar, grabs it and flips on top as easily as a gymnast. Everyone erupts into cheers, quickly forgetting that they usually hate him. He bows once, twice, jokingly, all while Sylphos glares at him. He may have got up there with brute force, but Flaere has _grace._

"I'll volunteer," Flaere finally says. He slips off his jacket and lets it fall to the ground. I let my eyes run over his sculpted muscles, but I get the feeling this show isn't for me... But if it's for Sylphos, he's wasting his time.

"Fine," Sylphos says tersely. He takes off his hat and unclips his hair. Flaere's eyes widen as bright blue hair tumbles down his back. Starstruck and blinking like a moron, he misses the cue to start, just watching Sylphos as  he drops back down on the bar and gets an easy headstart.

"Stop thinking with your penis, lover boy!" I yell at him through cupped hands. He suddenly remembers himself and drops into his first pull up.

Flaere is the only one among us who can keep up with a marine, and he doesn't even look tired. He reinvigorated the army's spirits as he cheerfully keeps in time with Sylphos. When the Marine starts to lose steam, Flaere slows down to match his pace, smiling over at him.

"Don't you _dare_ stop now, Marine!" Knotts yells at him. Sylphos furrows his brow, pedals his legs in the air, but he's not going anywhere. He finally lets go of the bar, defeated.

" _Yes!_ " I pump my fist in the air, bringing it down to give Flaere a high five as he joins me on the ground. "Wasn't sure you had it in you for a second, there." I grin at him.

"Well you softened him up for me." Flaere shrugs nonchalantly but his gray eyes are bright with excitement. The other Marines heckle Sylphos as he returns to the lineup, stuffing his hair back under his cap:

"What was that? What the hell was _that?_ "

"Hey Sergeant, put me on that bar; I'll show these boys how it's done!"

All except for one of the Marines who wears a sympathetic expression. His skin is just the lightest shade of tan and his ultraviolet hair is buzzed off around the sides, leaving only a swoop of hair to curtain one side of his face and partially shield an eye.

"You were close," he says forgivingly and claps a couple of times. Syphos chooses to stand beside him with a sigh, rudely shoving the Marine currently standing there aside.

Flaere gathers his courage and turns to Knotts. "Looks like I'm cut out to be a Marine after all," he says. General Knotts doesn't even qualify him with a glance. But he does reply,.  

"You're right, Hunter. You do meet, hell, you _exceed_ every physical requirement necessary to enlist with the Marines. Do you know our motto?"

"Semper fidelis," Flaere looks wary as he replies, "Always faithful."

"Exactly. The Marine Corps is founded on courage. We were built with grit and determination." Finally, Knotts turns his piercing teal eyes on Flaere. "Our fighting spirit keeps us going when we have nothing else to rely on, and _that_ is why: by land, by air or by sea, we _will_ be there and we _will_ get the job done."

"I know all that," Flaere says quietly.

"So you think you know our mission. Well, do you know what holds us together?" Knotts pauses just to make Flaere squirm, and answers when he can't, "Loyalty. Trust. Brotherhood." The words land like weights impossible to carry. Knotts folds his arms. "I would never ask my men to place their trust - their _lives_ \- in the hands of a psychopath and a cold-blooded murderer like you." Flaere's eyes get very wide and very wet, very fast. "I want you to know that I didn't hesitate to turn down your application." Okay, now that's just rubbing it in. And again, coming from someone who was almost on the wrong end of Flaere's psychosis, I have to say: fair enough! But there's still something cruel in the way the Marines treat him.

"He's going to cry," Sylphos muses to the other Marines who sneer at Flaere.

"Flaere..." I reach out to put a hand on his shoulder but he bolts, disappearing into the crowd.

"Alright line up, soldiers!" Weiser claps his hands together, already right back to business.

He and General Knotts take their place in front of us.

"Now that you're all acquainted with each other," Well that's one way to put it. "General Knotts and I have been talking and we've come up with a more practical training exercise for the next few days." _Practical?_ Weiser begins to pace before us, looking each of us in the eye as he passes. "Your mettle will be tested under real-life battle conditions, with military equipment and rationed resources." Yes! _Finally_ , something to do. I'm not the only one who's hyped for this if the excited whispering is anything to go on. "You will be fighting against the Marines to win territory in the HQ." I groan aloud at that. General Weiser shoots me a look before continuing, "In each room will be one of these," He holds up a white flag that flutters in the wind. "You will attempt to collect as many of them as possible. And the team with the most flags by the end of the exercise will be crowned the victor." He lifts a black rifle from its position strapped over his back and before anyone can stop him, he points it at a random soldier and pulls the trigger. Red blossoms out over the soldier's chest as we look on, shocked. _He didn't just-!_

The soldier stands frozen. Then he pulls at his shirt to find it unperforated.

"P-Paint?" His voice is shaking. Weiser lays the rifle against his shoulder with an amused smile.

"Indeed, soldier. Paintball guns. But don't underestimate them. The team with the most flags by the end of the exercise will be declared the winner. Any questions?"

"Uh, yeah," I raise my hand. "Is there a prize or something?"

"You won't need to worry about that," Knotts snickers. Oh, trash talk, I see. Well two can play at that game!

"Well actually, we've got the 'psychopath and cold-blooded murderer' on our team so I wouldn't count us out. _Sir_ ," I say sarcastically. Knotts looks at me for a long time, then turns to Weiser.

"Do you discipline these soldiers at all, or...?"

Weiser just sighs heavily, "Believe me, he isn't worth it. So if there are no more questions, then we'll pick team captains. For the army side..." He scans us, but let's be real, there's only one choice here! I step forward.

"Your chosen one has arrived." I grin. Weiser meets it with a frown.

"Absolutely not. What have you done to show that you're a leader? Ever since you came here, you've been nothing but rude and disrespectful. You could make allies around here if you wanted to, but instead, you coast on your family's hard-earned name while doing nothing to deserve it. Your ego is the size of the Forests of Decay. And it stinks just as bad." My mouth hangs open in disbelief.

"Wow General, tell me how you _really_ feel..." I try to laugh it off but it sounds like a cough.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Damon snickers, stepping up. "I look forward to making you call me 'Captain'. And then 'Master'." He winks at me ominously.

"Now hold on," Weiser interrupts again, "That doesn't mean I've already picked you. You're a whole other mess, Black."

"Excuse me?" Damon narrows his eyes.

"You heard me. You manipulate people with fear because you don't know any other way to earn their cooperation. You're violent, controlling and you don't give a _damn_ about your men. If I put you in charge, we'd lose from the infighting before the Marines even make a move."

"Ha!" I try to rub it into Damon's horrified face but I'm still smarting from my own scathing review.

"No, neither of you would be the right choice." Weiser fingers his salt and pepper beard distractedly. "I know. Chaplain, you're up!" And who the hell is that- I stare, shocked, as Trent steps forward.

"Yes, sir!" He draws himself up straight and salutes the general.

"You cannot be serious," Damos groans.

" _Him?_ " I add.

"Yes, him," Weiser shuts off our complaints with a stern look. "Trent Chaplain is one of my best soldiers. He excels at his training, and he has a real sense of teamwork. There's a good head on those shoulders. And it isn't half as whiny as you two either!" I look at Trent sideways but he doesn't look back at me with a gloating smirk or anything like that. He's too good for it. I hate him even more now.

"Well that was time consuming," Knotts comments. He glances briefly at the Marines, but it's obvious he already knows who to pick. "Sterling!" At the sound of his name, Sylphos strolls proudly out of line - "Is what I _would_ say if you hadn't choked like a noodle-armed little girl on that bar." Sylphos stops dead in his tracks. "Shafali! Now's your time to shine."

" _Y_ _es!_ " The purple-haired soldier who had been standing next to Sylphos punches a fist in the air in his excitement. He notices Sylphos' poisonous glare and dials it back a little. "'I mean... You'll get it next time, Sergeant."

General Knotts hangs out the door of the Humvee as Marines pile into the back.

"See you on the battlefield. May the best Marines win!" He salutes Weiser and the vehicle pulls out of the courtyard.

This is going to be... Something, alright. Looks like all the star players have been benched. I am not looking forward to taking orders from _Trent._

"I'm so excited for you, you're gonna do great!" Finn latches onto his arm and squeezes. Trent smiles at him. Even Damon has his _fiance_ for comfort. Pouty, he has an arm around Matteo - is it just me or has he gotten really handsy with him all of a sudden? He pulls Matteo in closer, holding his head against his chest as he languidly draws his fingers through dark hair.

I look Matteo up and down; Damon cleaned him up well. If you didn't know any better, you wouldn't think anything was going on there... But there are still pale pink lacerations peeking out from under his long sleeves, if you know where to look. Still shingled hair messily cut short and those blank eyes staring forward at nothing. _'There are two people involved in an engagement: one who proposes... and one who accepts.'_ That can't be the whole story. It just can't! There has to be more there... But I don't know what it is. I look away, frustrated, helpless, and more alone than ever. I notice Jun standing a short distance away with his tablet.

"Hey, you... Wanna hold hands?" It's worth a shot.

"No, Gunner, I _really_ don't."

 

###

 

"I want one squad to my left and two to the right. Sweep this hall and capture the flags. We'll establish a base of operations here. Everyone read me?"

"Yes, Captain!" the other soldiers affirm. Well, all of them except for me anyway, because I can't bring myself to say those words. Not to _Trent._ He thinks he's so goddamn smart. Remind me how smart it is to lose your boyfriend in a game of cards? I hoist my paintball gun from over my shoulder and pull down my goggles in the same movement. Make as if to follow my squad down the hall when a fist latches down firmly on my wrist. I look up indignantly into Trent's eyes.

"I asked you a question, soldier," he says seriously.

"You've gotta be kidding me..." I mutter but he jerks on my arm sharply until we're toe to toe. I have to look up at him, which bitterly reminds me of the fact that he's slightly taller than me. Everything about this guy is fucking _infuriating!_

He says under his breath, but perfectly clear, "I want to know that I'm not going to have any trouble with you. So I'll ask again. _Do you read me?_ " He really isn't letting go, in fact, his grip is getting tighter - painful even. I set my jaw in a line so he doesn't see that I feel it and spit,

"Yes... _Chaplain._ "

He pauses and for a second I think he's going to push the issue. My confidence is flagging because I might cave just to escape his iron grip. But he lets go and turns away. As I rub my wrist, I churn up angry emotions. Who the hell does he think he is? I'm the son of the famous Commander Draven Gunner! But instead of saying that, I quickly follow in my team's footsteps.

The soldiers sieved off into the rooms in the hallway. I just pick one, kick the door open in the most excessive way possible (I've always wanted to do that!), and point the rifle inside. Someone screams.

"You scared the hell out of me, Gunner..." Finn lowers his hands to place them over his heart. His military uniform is the smallest size they have and it _still_ looks a little big on him. "Help me find this flag," he says, rooting around. I join him, checking behind furniture and under the bed. The blinds shriek when Finn tugs sharply on the cord. I find a white flag protruding from between the mattress and box spring.

"Found it!" Whip it out and lift it high in the air. Ha, well if nothing else is going right today, at least I can say I found this fucking thing.

"Great job, Rayce!" Finn is such a good little cheerleader. Of course someone as _perfect_ as Trent would have a boyfriend like him. "Let's take it back to the others." But Finn doesn't belong to him...

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?" I corner him, placing my hands dominantly on the door on either side of him. "Why are you in such a hurry?" Finn looks me up and down nervously.

"W-Well what would you rather do?"

"Hmmmm..." I let him hang on that amused tone as I drop a hand to my pants. Let him get lost in my eyes as his pretty green gaze glazes over swooningly. The sound of my pants rustling makes him snap back to attention. His blushing is adorable.

 _"Now?_ " he whispers. I nod, propping my goggles up on my head with one hand. I produce my throbbing meat with the other.

"Your masters wants Oral. Quickly." See? I'm a reasonable guy. Finn smiles shyly at me before dropping to his knees. He takes my cock in his hands, jerking it off with one as he fondles the sack below it with the other. His fingers trace lines of fire across my tool - fuck, he learns quickly. He closes in, snaking his tongue forward to lap at the tip like a lollipop. Then along the side, lavishing the length with attention as his tongue curls around and across it. I can't help a tiny moan of delight. He's gotten really good at this. I reach out to pull off his goggles. Soft, careless blonde curls fall free. He glances up at me with just the hint of a smile on his lips. Then he draws back to swallow my cock whole. The sudden enveloping heat like a sticky, steamy furnace is almost enough to make me blow right then and there but the anticipation of even more keeps me together. A shot of smug satisfaction goes straight to my head. Trent thinks he's in charge but who's in his boyfriend right now?

Finn bobs back and forth, up and down, taking me to the inside of his cheek, to the back of his throat. This is just a blowjob but he's really getting into it! It's not enough. I want control. I grab him by the hair, holding him still so I can hammer into his mouth. _Not enough._ Angle him slightly back and down. My next thrust finds its way deep into his unresisting throat, sending heat shooting back up. _Perfect._ Finn doesn't mind the abuse as I fill his throat, using it as a cocksleeve. His gorgeous eyes flutter open when I finally erupt, inundating his gullet.

"You better swallow that, slut," I grunt, weakly thrusting the ejaculate down his throat. Finn's adam's apple bobs up and down.

I pull out of Finn's mouth shockingly clean. This guy... I look down at the man staring adoringly back. He's incredible. And he's all mine.

"C'mere-" I pull him to his feet. He squeals in delight when he realizes I am not through with him, just like a good slut. His pants make only the softest of rustles as they fall to the floor. I turn him around, lock my arms under his knees and pick him up, supporting him by the thighs. He's spread wide and up against the door I pause, his hole hovering tantalizingly above my straining tool. He looks over his shoulder, breathing hard and hot. I whisper in his ear.

"So, remember when I said 'oral'?" I nip his ear. "I lied." He moans aloud in anticipation.

"Please, Master? Put it in my ass?" Couldn't have put it better myself. He lets out a pleasured cry as I sheath myself in him in one thrust. I pummel his hole, bouncing him with every thrust and allowing gravity to do the rest. It forces me into him in all new ways, pressed up against the door with no support other than my hands and my dick!

"Quiet, you're going to give away our position!" I scold, punctuating it with a particularly vicious hilting. He gasps out at that.

"S-Sorry, Master!" he moans. Finn bites down on his wrist to cut off his cries but I can still hear the stifled remains issuing from within. The sound of voices makes me freeze. Finn sinks all the way down on my pole silently.

"Alpha squad in position, over."

 _"Gamma squad in position, over."_ A second voice only slightly garbled on the radio.

_"Theta squad ready to go. Let's show these soldier boys. Roll out!"_

"Copy that." The click of a radio. _Marines._

"Rayce!" Finn whispers urgently, his ear pressed to the door.

"I know," I reply tersely but my brain is going a hundred miles per hour. When I hear the footsteps receding, I push the button on my radio transmitter.... And just stare ahead without saying a word.

"What are you doing?" Finn looks at me, tense. "The Marines have us cornered! We have to warn the others!" An evil little grin takes shape on my face.

"Or what if we... _Don't_ do that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only third wheeling were a sport, Rayce could probably win at that.


	10. He Deserves Everything he Gets

"Wh-What do you mean by that? Rayce?" When Finn doesn't get a reply, he reaches for his own transmitter. _Not so fast._ He squeals as I pin his wrist sharply to the door. The radio clatters on the floor.

"I think we were in the middle of something," I say in his ear.

"B-But Rayce- _ah!_ " He cuts himself off with a pleasured cry as I lift and drop him right back on my cock. He tosses his blonde head, gasping at the ceiling as I grind him into the door. Chest to his back and lubricated by the sweat in between, I find ways into him that feel new. That feel _good._

I peel Finn from the door by the hair, letting him stumble along in a sex-addled haze.

"Rayce..." He makes a token effort at a complaint when I shove him down on the bed. Climbing on behind him, I sink my fingers into his soft handful of ass and spread him open. His slightly loosened pucker greets me like an eager friend, even if the rest of him acts like he doesn't want it. "This isn't the time! We have to warn the others!" He interrupts.

Twisting the white flag into a rope, I make a simple slipknot and toss it over Finn's head like a lasso. He lets out a choked noise when I tug sharply on both ends, but I stop short of cutting off his air.

"Such a loyal pup," I say at last with a nasty grin, and yeah, maybe I'm borrowing some inspiration from Damon. You gotta admit the guy makes an impression. With the makeshift collar, on his hands and knees, Finn really does look like the most adorable dog in the world. But last time I checked, dogs don't wear clothes - unless you have too much time on your hands and not enough strippers in your bed! Finn whimpers softly as I slowly, unbearably, undo his buttons and tear off his uniform shirt by the back of the collar. Under it is even more of his irresistible, cream white skin. I can't resist running my fingers over the luxurious surface, dipping under his narrow chest to trace the hot concave of his waist. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Stop it," he says in a wavering tone.

"Oh, you can stop this anytime." I toss my radio down on the sheets near his head. He reaches for it, but lets out a cry of delight instead when I sheath myself in him again.  
"What are you doing?" he squeals. I lock down at his hips and give it to him like a dog, reveling in the sound of his gasps for air getting louder and more desperate with every thrust.

"What are you waiting for?" I taunt, "Call your precious boyfriend; tell him he's in trouble." End that sentence with a vicious hilting that draws a small scream from his throat. I cut it short with a sharp tug on the leash. "Tell him _you're_ in trouble," I mutter darkly. But he doesn't because he doesn't _want_ this to stop.

"Rayce-!" Is all he manages before I wrench him from the sheets by the throat. He squirms, pressed up against me. I grab his hip to steady him and pin it back against mine, invading him even deeper. I have him straining on the rope, enough to make him uncomfortable and keep him hanging on every precious breath I allow him, but short of choking him where he kneels. It's a fine line to walk, and I can't say I'm trying all that hard.

I almost bring Finn to tears when I start thrusting again, pushing up into his stiff body locked at the joints. That's not the only thing that's stiff...

"You love this." I grin, gripping his hard-on.

"No..." He shakes his head weakly from side to side. "You're cruel..."

"Don't lie to me... You're my bitch and you know it." I bounce him on my cock and jack him off to the same rhythm. See? I am the nicest dom this guy is ever gonna get. Finn screws up his face but his heated panting for air gives him right away. Oh, he's into it; he just needs help being honest with himself! I bite down on the cute, pale shell of his ear and then whisper heatedly, "Does he fuck you like this?" Finn's emerald eyes shoot open in horror. "Can he give it to you the way you like it, you filthy whore?" His naturally flushed lips tremble on the beginnings of a hundred excuses and a million words.

"No." He picks a simple one. Fuck _yes._ A ragged moan spills from my throat; I'm close and I know he can feel it too. I just want - _need_ \- to hear him say it.

"Who's your master, bitch?" I demand. He whispers something. "What have we said about the mumbling?" I chastise him with a tug on the collar.

" _You!_ " I'm a little taken aback when he practically howls it out loud. "Oh _god_ , it's you, Rayce! Master Rayce! Fuck me, Master, fuck me, _fuck me!_ " A huge grin finds its way on my face. That was even better than I was expecting. Turns out he really is a fucking slut! Hell if I'm going to disappoint. Dropping the collar, I devote both hands to holding him steady at the hips while I jackhammer him from behind. He screams, like actually _screams -_ boy's got a pair of lungs on him! I can't ignore my mounting climax anymore, grunting as I shoot straight into his greedy hole. He ruins the sheets with a cry that sounds more like a wail.

Finn giggles softly, spacey, coming down from that addictive high.

"Mmm... Master..." He rests on my chest, toying with the cloth of my shirt. His face is flushed pink and he wears a beatific expression. There's devotion in his eyes. I snicker slightly and wrap an arm around him, stroking my pet's fluffy curls. Poor Finn... I get it, okay? Modesty is a value he was raised with. He lived it. Loved it. Then he found out how _great_ sex is. I almost feel bad when I show him my radio, the indicator blinking steadily. It's been on this whole time. His eyes widen; his fingers latch down on my shirt when he realizes: he just broadcasted radio porn to the entire army. And his _boyfriend._   

"You gave them quite a show," I muse. Finally, I shut off the receiver. The radio crackles.

 _"Finn?"_ Trent's disbelieving voice issues through it. We don't get to enjoy this delicious reunion when another voice cuts in,

_"We're surrounded! Brace yourselves!"_

Yelling and the sound of gunfire echoes down the hall. Looks like the two ends of my plan have tied neatly together. I pick up my paintball gun and pull my goggles back down over my face. Hot sex and a testosterone-fueled fight? This is just like old times! I can't wait to sock it to one of those smartass Marines...

"You coming?" I ask Finn eagerly. He doesn't answer, curled up on the sheets and sobbing softly. Ugh, he's so sensitive.

"Whatever. You're missing out," I tease. It's not like I need the backup; more like want the company, but I'll settle for the company of a particular Marine if I can get it... I press my ear to the door, listening. I don't have to wait long.

"The pincer worked exactly as planned, I'm not sure why you're upset..." That sounds like Shafali. I lean in.

"It's fine, it's just basic," Sylphos says defensively. _Bingo_.

I burst through the door in front of the stunned Marines, rifle pointed.

"Surprise!" I grin and pull the trigger. A green pellet of paint explodes right between Shafali's eyes, knocking him back on his ass. "The goggles go over your _eyes_ ," I offer him a helpful tip. "I guess it's true what they say about Marines: all muscles and no brain!"

"One more thing than the army has, then," Sylphos growls and directs his rifle at me. I dodge the first couple of shots but he predicts my movement and nails me with the next. The pellet stings way more than I thought it would, even through the thick cloth of my uniform.

"Gotcha." He grins. One hit was all it took and now I'm marked. Sylphos unleashes a flurry of pellets, nailing almost every single shot.

"Ow! _Ow!_ Goddammit!" I hold up my arms to take the brunt of the assault. Sharp, stinging pain rains down from above. My uniform blossoms into a hundred different colors all mixing together over the army camouflage.

"Fuck this fucking useless gun!" It's not good enough for Sylphos. I lower my arms tentatively to see burning yellow eyes rapidly approaching. He just _swings_ , socking me in the gut with the full weight of the paintball gun. Knocked off balance, I can't stop him as he pushes me back against the wall, pinning me there with the rifle across my throat. I grip the black barrel with both hands, struggling to free myself.

"Go, Shafali!" he barks, "I'll take care of this guy..."

"Oh yeah, good point," The purple-haired Marine looks slightly flustered. He flips his hair flip back in the correct direction and picks himself up to sprint down the hall. I notice him tugging his goggles down over his face real quick as he goes. When Sylphos turns back to look at me, I'm grinning at him.

"What are you so smiley about?" he demands.

"You hate it, don't you?" I ask, "Taking orders? And the worst part is, you kinda like the guy so you can't even do anything about it."

"Shut up!" Sylphos knocks me back against the wall. A cough escapes me, transforming into a laugh on the way out.

"It's okay." I wink at him teasingly. "I like it when my subs ride." He narrows his eyes. Suddenly, the storm on his face parts to reveal a smile.

"You're too annoying to be a master."

"You're one to talk." I snort.

"I mean... You act like a whiny bottom bitch who's just going to keep being annoying until his top pounds him into next week."

"What are you talking about?" Suddenly, Sylphos grabs my thigh and pulls it to rest against his hip, half-straddling him. I freeze. This feels wrong. This is _wroooong._ It must be loud and clear on my face because he laughs out loud.

"See? Look how quick you shut your whore mouth."

"Let go!" My voice tapers out abnormally high on the last note, just making Sylphos' grin wider. I clear my throat, embarrassed, and try again, "That's rich, coming from a man with a pussy." I lash out with the most sensitive thing I know about him, just to hurt him, just to throw him off balance. His jaw tightens but he doesn't falter.

"Since you remember my pussy so well, maybe you remember what else was down there." He pushes his crotch up against mine. A noise squeezes from my throat. I won't call it a whimper but it's dangerously close. "You're such a stereotype." He drops his voice low because he's so close that I can still hear him. "Frat boy alpha male whose toxic masculinity is tied directly to his penis. And his _ass_ but he won't admit it. Don't you think the real MVP is the guy who can catch just as well as he can pitch?" He cocks a handsome eyebrow at me. "And be in charge both times?" I feel it between my legs: he's _hard._ It's so weird being on the uncomfortable end of things for a change. That's it _._ Sylphos looks down when I press the tip of my baton into the soft spot between his pelvis and the bottom of his ribcage.

"What the hell-" I taze him.

Sylphos staggers away and relief washes over me when both of my feet touch the floor again. The discharge was a little too close to where my leg was on him and I caught some of the jolt; it's making my leg tremble. I can't stop to catch my breath. Desperate, I limp down the corridor. Sylphos recovers faster.

"Where do you think you're going?" His yelling spurs me into a stumbling run.

I turn the corner into a war zone. A really colorful one, but a war zone nonetheless. The walls are splattered with a haphazard coat of paint that changes constantly as pellets fly through the air. The colorful bodies of groaning soldiers litter the hall, trying to blend into the abstractionist wonderland. Other rainbow-colored soldiers sprint past me, yelling incoherently. Someone slips in a puddle, and someone else takes a shot to the face. I _love_ this exercise. I lose myself in the mayhem, fitting right in with my paint-splattered clothes. That's when I find a Marine dragging a thrashing Matteo along behind him by the hair.

"Get _off_ him!" There's no action, just _reaction_ : I don't even care that he's much, much bigger than me! I tear the Marine off by the collar and swing. Matteo scrambles to his feet as we trade blows.

A pellet explodes against the back of my head. Purple paint trickles down over my ear. Sylphos caught up. He loads another cartridge.

"Rayce, watch out!" Matteo yells. That isn't the worst of it. I can't react fast enough to the other Marine and take an uppercut to the jaw. There's a high-pitched whine in my ears; the entire room revolves. Then a hand latches down on my arm. I meet Matteo's blue eyes. He grounds me here in this isolated spot in the corridor with him.

"It's you and me, Gunner!" He nods briefly. Does he know how my entire chest aches at those words? But we don't have time for that right now.

"R-Right!" The entire world pours back in as I spin around. Matteo links an elbow with mine as we stand back to back, rifles pointed at the two Marines. I'm facing Sylphos, who grins.

"That's adorable. But I'm still going to beat the living crap out of you." I can feel Matteo's presence behind me, his arm interlocked with mine, and I'm not fucking scared of this blue-haired freak of nature anymore.

"Then come and get it," I dare him.

And he would have taken me up on it too if the orders didn't arrive.

"Marines, fall back!" Shafali yells over the sounds of battle. Sylphos' yellow eyes widen in disbelief. He looks around, furious, as the Marines put the finishing touches on their victory and top it off with a flawless retreat. He lets out a frustrated noise and fires one last pellet at my chest. The parting shot leaves a nice red stain on my uniform. Petty.

"I'll be back for you, Gunner."

"Oh what, have I not seen the last of the Great Sylphos Sterling?" I say sarcastically. His eyes flash angrily and then he follows the others.

The Marines are gone as fast as they arrived. I spin around.

"Matteo-" But he's already walking away. "Hey, where are you going?" I step over someone and shove another dazed soldier out of the way to get to him. " _Stop!_ " I grab his arm, forcing him into a half-turn.

"Let go," he says coldly. Black hair shields his face. Anger swells in my chest. Let go? _Let go?_

"Are you playing with me right now, Lorenze?" I jerk on his arm, making him stumble this way. "Don't fucking play with me," I hiss dangerously. He lifts his face and it makes me blink, stunned. There are tears in his eyes.

" _Please_ let go," he begs. I feel eyes boring into me. Sure enough, I lift my head slowly to see Damon standing a short distance away. Just standing there, it feels like, for too long. _Judging_ Matteo's every move. I don't even consciously do it, but I release Matteo's arm. He rushes to Damon, leaning into him obediently as that horrible arm slithers around him like a snake.

Meanwhile, Trent is picking through the remains of his army. Oh yeah, _that_ guy still exists. The brunet giant of a man removes his goggles with a snap of elastic as he looks around, shocked, at the multicolored disaster zone.

"What happened here?" he demands.

"We lost," someone shouts rudely.

"Well I know _that!_ " he snaps.

"I've got more bad news," Damon reports nonchalantly. "They got into the rations. We're out of food." A soldier steps out of the stockroom with a food container. The protective casing has been cynically slashed open and the insides soaked with paint.

"This can't be happening..." Trent runs a hand through his dreamy brown waves of hair. "How did no one see them coming?!" Silence. "Answer me!" He raises his voice.

"To be fair," I pipe up, "Everyone was a little distracted." His eyes widen angrily when he sees me.

" _You_ ." Trent is on me in a second, seizing me by the collar. "What did you _do?!_ " I brace myself because he really looks like he's about to hit me.

"Trent, stop." The tiniest voice talks him down. Trent turns to Finn standing at the mouth of the corridor. His uniform is pristine; spoiled princess must have spent the whole fight crying melodramatically in the bedroom. Red eyes corroborate the story.

"What was that?" Trent asks in a low voice. He holds up his radio as if Finn doesn't know. "What did you make me listen to?!" Finn squeezes his eyes shut desperately.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers. The other soldiers look on awkwardly. Now's my cue!

"Do you guys really want to take orders from a _cuck?_ " I grin. Trent looks at me in angry disbelief. "I mean, just look at this place." I shake my head disapprovingly. "This is a _mess._ He can't even keep _Finn_ under control, and you think he can win against _Marines?_ " The sound of uncertain murmuring eggs me on. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna keep listening to him, or the guy banging his hot boyfriend?" Finn's green eyes widen as he realizes I've just reduced his entire relationship into a bargaining chip. Hey, all's fair in love and war, and isn't this both?

"Sure, I'll follow you, Gunner." But I _don't_ expect Damon to volunteer first. I look at him incredulously. He has a wan smile on his face that I don't trust, and I _definitely_ don't trust the way he's touching Matteo. "Lead us to _victory._ " He sounds sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough. Whatever the case, Damon opened the floodgates as more and more soldiers voice their agreement. I hate to say it, but he's got clout around the HQ and it doesn't come from a fucking name.

Trent looks around, his expression turning uncertain. Finally, he looks at Finn for the longest time. Resignation sinks in on his face.

"Just take it, Rayce, if that's what you want so badly." And the titan crumbles.

"I'll take that crown, thank you very much!" I don't even know what I'm doing when I take Trent's goggles and hold them up like an idiot. The soldiers cheer me on because I'm pretty sure they're idiots too. I snap my trophy down on my head, just above my original goggles. My red hair sticks out at odd angles between the two sets but I don't care, grinning wide. It actually makes Matteo laugh into his hand, which is reward enough. _God,_ he's so beautiful when he laughs.

"Now..." I look around at my new army. "Where are the flags?"

Trent leads me to another room tucked out of the way. "I had Jun store them somewhere safe so the Marines wouldn't find them even if they raided us," he explains as we go. _Smart_ , I admit begrudgingly although I'll never say it out loud. The door slides open soundlessly, filtering a rectangle of light into the darkness. We find the kneeling form of Jun in the middle of the room facing away from the door, a disheveled violet braid trailing down his back.

"Jun?" Trent calls. Jun tosses his head back with a bottle pressed to his lips. He's been drinking again. I know how to deal with this better than Trent does, marching right in. Or maybe I don't when I notice what he's actually doing... Jun is hunched over as he picks through the shattered remains of a goldfish bowl. At first, I think he's trying to save the fish, but no, that would require human emotions. He actually nudges the slimy corpse of a goldfish out of the way to pick up a shard of glass underneath it. Turning the pieces this way and that with a single-minded obsession, he tries to fit them back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

"They won't... They won't fit," he says despairingly. Jun puts one down and tries another, getting more and more distressed while he clumsily cuts up his fingertips on sharp edges. A drop of blood blooms in the puddle. I've heard of happy drunks, sad drunks, slutty drunks, even strangely wise drunks, but I don't know what... _This_ is.

Meanwhile, Trent reports from the back of the room, "The flags are gone!"

"They're _what?_ " My eyes go wide. "You were supposed to be guarding them!" I yell at Jun, but he isn't listening. His castle of glass falls apart and he lays his cheek on the floor, curling up into fetal position around his bottle. " _Whyyyy?_ " He begs the fishbowl, eyes full of tears, "Go back together. _Please_ go back together..." I stare at him incredulously.

So let me get this straight: we lost the first battle. We lost our food. And now, thanks to _this guy_ , we've lost the flags too. This living, breathing personification of everything I've fucked up since I got here. And he just keeps throwing those mistakes back in my face every chance he gets. He thinks he's bulletproof. But watching him writhing on the floor, hammered out of his mind, the veil around him just falls apart. Jun is every bit as pathetic and insane as everyone else here. I think I'm ready to deal.   

Jun squeals as I dig a hand roughly into his hair. I wrench him close to whisper in his ear. "You were right about one thing: you're no princess."

 

###

 

I clean paint off my baton with a towel, digging into every tiny nook and cranny. My baby deserves more respect than this. I hold her up to the light, squinting. _Looks pretty clean..._ The faint sound of muffled screaming trickles into my ear.

"He's been in there for hours." I look up at Finn standing in front of me.

"Your point?" I ask. He lowers his face.

"Never mind." He wrings his hands nervously. He has something to say.

"Aaaand," I prompt.

"I'm going to meet Trent tonight. If that's okay," he says quietly. I want to say no until I remember that I'm the one who offered him that luxury in the first place.

"Sure, if you want." I act aloof but there's a hot streak of jealousy in the back of my mind. I could stop him, but I figure I've tortured him enough for one day. Besides, he and Trent probably have a _lot_ to talk about. I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation!

"Thank you." His gratitude sounds hollow - but not a bitter kind of hollow. A burned-out one. The door next to me slides open. I glance up at the chuckling group of soldiers strolling out of it, conversing animatedly and adjusting their pants as they go. I stand up, stretching.

"I've got a hot date tonight, anyway." I wink at the blonde soldier. Finn looks away, silent.  

The door slams open and shut with unnecessary force as I let myself in. The lighting is dim, like _all_ the goddamn lighting in this base, but it's enough to give me a grimy eyeful of the new interior design. The hall is a wonderland of paint, the floor here got a whitewash.

I barely recognize the shivering, naked form bound to the bed frame. Jun's ankles are trussed to a curtain rod at a distance from each other and his wrists are lashed to the frame, forcefully bending him over with his hands together and legs apart. If the white smears on the rumpled sheets are anything to go on, his patrons knelt there for lip service _._

Jun jolted when I opened the door. His head turns, eyes like a desperate animal through violet hair tangled from rough treatment. He almost breaks down when he sees me, but he's sober enough to beg.

"Gunner!" he chokes out. "You've made your point... Now, please... P-Please, let me go..." More crocodile tears? They won't work this time.

"Now how could I do that?" I murmur, soft and cold. "See Jun, you're the one thing in this hellhole I can still control. Not the game, not Damon, not Finn... Not _Matteo_..." I have to pause for a deep, shuddering breath.

He asks in a controlled voice, "What does any of that have to do with me?" Trust him to look for _logic_ in everything.

"Nothing, really," I shrug indifferently. "I guess your luck is just kinda shitty."  

A single touch makes him shake all over. His glacial demeanor was chipped by every brutal rape until it finally shattered to reveal a neurotic ball of nerves trapped inside. Hyper-aware and terrified, he overreacts to every tiny move; the slightest touch, the most gentle stroke. So he's really gonna hate what I'm about to do next! I almost feel bad for him, but I learned my lesson about feeling bad for _Jun_.

Let's see what we got. His ass is bruised where fingers dug in. Written across it in sharpie: 'Cum dump' and an arrow drawn to the place between. Damon would be pleased to learn he's an inspiration to perverts and rapists all over Fade... Parting the cheeks, I see evidence as he leaks a puddle onto the already-sticky floor. White marbled in red. His hole is a filthy, bloodied, cum... well, _dumpster._ He's had a long evening. _And I was responsible for it._

Jun shudders with disgust, squirming in my grip. I don't care that he's been ridden like a breeding bitch, I don't _care_ what he's been through! I just fish out my cock, already hardened by the sight of someone like _him_ in a state like _this_. I have all the control.

_You're out of control._

Woah - ha - where did that come from? Defiantly blocking out the inconvenient thoughts in my head, I position myself at his ragged opening.

Jun looks over his shoulder with wide, wet and terrified brown eyes. I _love_ that expression...

"Not now... No more..." he babbles.

"Oh, I'm sorry, when's your next available appointment?" Without waiting for an answer, I easily take the plunge. A scream. "You don't get it, do you? Do you even _know_ what you are? You're a slave and you _belong to me_ , and that means you don't get to choose when I fuck you or where." I grab a handful of his purple hair and pull on it sharply, dragging out a gasp. "Or _how._ "

Jun shakes his head and drops it when he realizes this is happening one way or another. The going is quick, lubricated by the orgasms of I-don't-know-how-many men before me. It doesn't stop him shrieking all the same. I grunt as I hilt myself in his well-traversed tunnels. The fluids of previous incursions slop against my cock, both disgusting and perversely arousing all at once.

"Don't cum inside..." he pants. I spank him, leaving a pale pink mark and eliciting a yelp.

"Does it make a fucking difference?!" I yell at the abused technician. "Look at the condition you keep this in! Is this any way to greet your Master? With a filthy, fucked-up hole? Stupid cunt!" I spank him again.

Jun's sob morphs into a growl, then a frustrated shriek. "When I get out of here... _I'm gonna kill you, Gunner!_ " He strains against the bar.

"Get in line!" I shout back, driving the thoughts from both our minds with another brutal thrust. He redirects his energy to panting fervently in time with my blistering pace. I reach around to explore Jun's body. His physique is unworked, soft muscles barely poking the surface under his perfect skin. His ass is juicy and plump too. If he hadn't been the focus of a gangbang, Jun would be the perfect treat. Pretty rich. Pretty bitch. I believe the rumors.

I find Jun's nipples and give them a bruising workout of my own. He squeals and gasps in turns as I maul the little nubs between my fingers. One of them is suddenly slippery and I realize I've drawn blood. Not the intention but _God_ was that good. Repeat the action with the other, grinning to myself as he bucks in agony against his bindings, crying out. _Can I make him louder?_ Apparently so as I twist the injured nubs mercilessly. _Definitely_ louder. Meanwhile, my strokes have grown feverish, pile-driving his insides as I creep up onto a climax. Wasted fluids plaster my groin in disgusting off-white.

"Here... it... _cuuums!_ " I roar, unleashing into his already flooded hole. Jun hangs his head, violet hair limp over his face. Unnecessarily curvy legs tremble with fatigue, streaming rivulets of white. Seems like a waste.

Jun opens his exhausted eyes at the clink of glass on the floor. He looks upside down between his legs; finds the empty beer bottle I put there.

"I'll let you go," I say simply. His eyes flash desperately, but I see the undercurrent of terror that tells me he knows it's not all that simple. Good. Being a big shot intellectual or something, at least he learns fast. "If you can fill that bottle." He doesn't even have to ask; the bottle mouth is placed directly below his hole. His face goes crimson. "What, there isn't enough?" I draw a finger over the hills and valley of his rear. "Do you need a refill?" Jun shakes his head vigorously.

"I-I'll do it! I'll do it so just... Just give me a minute..." Jun gathers himself. I have faith in him! He can suspend his pride long enough to do some pretty disgusting things... Lick Damon's boot. Refill a bottle. Same thing. I sit back and spectate. Jun has to push but he's too embarrassed to do it. After being appointed cum dumpster for hours, bent over and fucked raw by complete strangers, he still has a sense of shame?

"Better hurry, slut..." I comment lightly. "It'll dry out and then you're really screwed!" He pushes and gasps aloud in both embarrassment and relief when a thick gout slops into the bottle. He looks less pleased when he realizes he has a long way to go.

Fuck, this is too good. I watch Jun battle with his sensibilities and his desperation for freedom for a while before I walk up to him.

"W-Wait!" The look in his eyes tells me he knows I never meant to free him anyway. I pick up the bottle daintily and swirl it around before his face. Thick liquid sloshes around inside.

"Does that look full to you, slut?"

"Gunner, I,"

" _Master!_ " I clock him across the face with the bottle. It leaves a bruise of purple smeared white on his cheek. Jun's eyes begin to water again. "You can't even do _basic tasks!_ " I shout at him. "What am I going to do with this useless bottle? What _should_ I do with all this?" His eyes widen at the slopping of liquid against glass. He's a smart guy; bet he has a couple guesses. "I'll just have to put it back where it came from." He shrieks aloud when he realizes my intentions.

" _No, no, NO!!!"_ He puts up as spirited a fight as any hogtied man can. I have to use both hands to wrench his jaw open and then shove the bottle mouth into it. Lock his head in place with one arm, the other holding the back of the bottle and tip both up. The most sickening gurgled protests emerge from his throat as the filthy liquid drains. Annoying thoughts return - _you are actually doing this to another human being._ And enjoying it?

The bottle pops out. Tears still roll down his wet face. Jun can't even look at me; he's so mortified by what he's just had to do.

"I've made a serious miscalculation," he breathes, mortified. Then heaves a little. Swallows. "You're just as bad as-" He doesn't get to finish when he actually does throw up; I take a step back. Then he's just bent over, retching dry at the floor, which quickly turns into hyperventilating.

"C-Can't breathe... I can't breathe!" he gasps desperately for air. His entire body shudders in revulsion; knees buckle and elbows crumple as if he's literally, _structurally_ breaking down from the inside. It dawns on me slowly: he's having an anxiety attack. And I just watch, blinking stupidly, stuck halfway between being a good master and just being a decent _human being_ \- maybe the ship's already sailed on that one. Stirred in with the niggling fear that he's just playing me. Trying to manipulate me again. I _refuse_ to let that happen. _But you can't just stand here!_ For some reason, I focus in on his hair. His beautiful purple hair now all messed up.

Jun gives a start when I put my hands on him again, but then he just stares in amazement as I draw a hairbrush through his hair. I brush Jun's hair in silence, gently detangling it and catching the neat sections on the palm of my other hand, doing multiple passes until each one is silky and straight again. Jun's trembling has lessened. He focuses intensely on the brush, tracking its every move through his hair.   

By the time I have his purple mane looking like its glossy, perfectly manicured self again, Jun's breathing is back to normal too. I can't help but think it's such a tiny, useless comfort in a situation like this, but somehow, it was enough to steady him. I think back to his intricate, carefully maintained hairstyles and it starts to make a little more sense. Jun leans ever-so-slightly into my palm as I take his face in my hand.

"I didn't want to do this to you..." I rub his tear-stained cheek with my thumb, then follow it with my lips, touching them lightly to his skin. "You're really fucking pretty."

"I know that." Jun stares at me with those almond eyes, calm again. Blank like a chalkboard wiped clean.

"So help me out here. Help me get those flags back," I ask him.

 

###

 

"Knock out a Marine? I can do that," Flaere scoffs bitterly. I bet he could and that's exactly why I brought him along... Why does he even bother loading his paintball gun when he's just gonna resort to his fists first chance he gets?  

"It's part of Jun's plan," I mention offhandedly.

"Oh, he's cooperating now." It's not really a question. If Flaere can make an educated guess as to how I made that happen, he doesn't say anything about it.

We pass by Trent's door on our way to go Marine hunting. I pause. The sliver of light under the door beckons for me... Oh man, I _really_ want to get a look at this. Flaere reads my mind.

"Maybe we should stop spying on people..." He suggests.

"What's the fun in that?"

"How about not getting caught?"

"Are you kidding? That's the best part!"

"I had no idea being manhandled by Marines is your idea of a good time."

"That's funny because, the way I remember it, I got to eat cake." I flash Flaere a sleazy grin. He looks away, annoyed. And just a little... _Jealous?_

"Make it quick." He doesn't stop me but he doesn't participate either, standing guard. I guess he only likes to watch when Sylphos is involved...

The door cooperates, sliding open soundlessly. I crack it just enough to get a view into the room without alerting anyone inside. The room is illuminated with soft, yellow-orange light. Mood lighting, looks like, so I bet I'm about to get the show I came here for. Eager, I dare to push the door slightly further open. Then I find Finn. My jaw drops.

Finn is on his knees, sitting on his heels. His wrists are tied behind his back with a short length of rope, but the most humiliating part of the setup is the outfit. A perverse riff on a catholic school uniform, Finn wears a red plaid miniskirt that no self-respecting school would let slide without dress coding him. I know he isn't wearing underwear because the pleated fabric barely covers his ass, but he is wearing lacey white knee socks and a sexy pair of black buckled kitten heels. The golden cross of his necklace glints bright over his white blouse. It has short, frilled sleeves and there's a cute, plaid bow tie perched at his throat to match the skirt. He lets out a whimper and I'm not sure why until I realize he's kneeling on hard, uncooked rice.  

Oh _god -_ and I think that's the most appropriate phrase here! That wasn't what I was expecting to find in _Trent's_ bedroom. But I'm unbelievably turned on if my erection is anything to go by - I _so_ want to smash schoolgirl Finn. A huge, dark shape strides into view. For a second I think it's a _monster_ \- then I realize it's just Trent. Same thing? There's something I've never seen before in his eyes. Something dark. He rests a hand in Finn's curls. I can already imagine the fluffy, luxurious feeling as if it was my own. The skinny blonde shivers in his paper-thin clothing.

"I can't..." Finn whimpers. He has his eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard. Just how long has this been going on?

"You need to repent." Trent strokes his hair slightly. "You know that."

"But Trent-"

" _Slut._ " Trent accuses. Finn drops his head, ashamed. "How can you call yourself a servant of our Lord when you're a _slave_ to your own flesh?"  

"I'm not," he moans.

"That's not what I heard on the radio." Trent's lip curls with distaste as he glowers down at his small blonde victim. "You're disgusting. But more importantly, you're a _failure_."

"I was faking it!" Finn bursts out. My eyebrows shoot up. Um, excuse me? Trent can't possibly believe him when he's lying so _obviously_ , I mean come on, this is _me_ we're talking about! "Rayce punishes me..." Finn continues, "He hurts me when I refuse him. Playing along is the only way..."

"So that... Was all fake?" Trent is actually considering it.

"I pretend to like it." Finn nods desperately, making his curls bounce like springs. The hopeful light in his eyes fades as Trent digs his fingers in.

"That doesn't change what you did, does it?" Trent meets his eyes.

Finn falters. "I-I... I'm just trying to help him."

"He's too far gone."

"No he isn't... No one is beyond salvation," Finn says quietly.

"Well it's not your job to save him! Do you think you can just give him a cookie and he'll magically turn into a better person?"

"I'm trying to be a good Catholic." Finn sets his mouth in a defiant line even as his legs tremble on the sharp rice grains.

"That ship already sailed for you."

"Trent!" His green eyes widen, hurt. Of all the things that happened here, _that's_ what bothers him the most? He cries out when Trent grabs his hair roughly and tosses him down on his side, releasing him abruptly from his punishment. The angle offers me a great view up his skirt, and normally I'd be all about that, but right now I'm just focused on the pockmarks where the rice dug in leaving his knees inflamed and studded with stubborn grains. The frail body on the floor shakes with soft sobs, but Trent pays it no mind, staring out the window with his hands at his back like a strict warden.

"You need to repent." He issues the statement like divine judgment.

I pull away from the door and leeeeet me just close it fully so no one else has to accidentally witness that... Trent never struck me as the master type at that poker table, but behind closed doors... Or at least when he _thinks_ they're closed. I shudder slightly as the image of Finn's ruined skin returns to me. The small man shivering in his humiliating outfit. That was _training_ , no way around it. And he did it without sex. No marks. All stress positions and slut-shaming. Mind games that would make a cult leader blush, and he gets to rationalize away every awful thing he does to a higher power without consequences. And I never would have known if I hadn't witnessed it for myself. That's fucking _scary_. I think I get it now.

"What took you so long?" I look up, surprised, at the Marine in the hall.

" _Woah!_ " I whip out my rifle in an instant.

"Gunner, take it easy." The Marine pulls off his goggles and lifts his helmet slightly to reveal bouncy waves of orange hair. Oh wait, that _is_ Flaere, in a Marine uniform. I lower my rifle with a sigh of relief. "Did I scare you?" His grey eyes twinkle mischievously.

"You... _Surprised_ me." I correct.

"Well, you were taking so long I decided to go hunting by myself." I _reaaaally_ hope that's just an expression but you can never be too sure with this guy. "Here, I got you one too." He tosses me a uniform. Of course he took on two Marines by himself and won... Why wouldn't he...

"Great." I start changing quickly, partly because I want to win, but mostly because I just need to put as much distance between myself and Trent's room right now.

"So..." Flaere seems to sense my mood and asks, "Was it hot?" I pull the helmet down over my blood red hair.

"Like hell. Let's get this over with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, no one deserves that. Except maybe Jun.


	11. Blood, and What it Costs

"Halt! State your business!" You have any idea how hard it is to look not-guilty when you most definitely, absolutely, from every conceivable angle _are just that?_ Surprisingly, not very if you have as much practice lying as I do:

'I have no idea who ran over your cat with an SUV, Mr. Sakamoto.'

'Hey I never knew he was married.'

'No Drunk, I'm not officer.'

'I did not have sexual relations with that man!'

'I solemnly swear that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me, God.' Perjury? What's that?

"Patrolling," I add another lie to the list as I turn to face the angry Marine who stopped me and Flaere.

"That's what _I'm_ doing." He'll need more convincing.

"Ugh, I know what's going on," I groan. "Shafali stationed you here. Well I'm on Sterling's orders. Sucks having two bosses on our ass, ammirite?" The Marine's shoulders drop and the tension slides right off.

"Tell me about it," he mutters, "I can't decide which one I'd rather get chewed out by..."

"Shafali," I advise, "Shafali every time." You don't have to be a Marine to know that. The Marine lets out a bark of laughter.

"You're right. Hey, take care man. Head a' swivel." He offers me a congenial salute before continuing his patrol down the hall. _Smooooth one, Gunner_ , I congratulate myself.

"Loosen up, Hunter." I slap the nervous ginger's abs with my paintball gun. "They're gonna spot you a mile away."

"F-Flaere," he corrects. "I'm Flaere." He awkwardly tucks a stray spiral of orange hair back into his helmet. So the fuckable personality is Flaere - good to know. Which means the terrifying one is Hunter. I'll keep that in mind for another reason...

"Why do you want to win so badly anyway?" he asks forlornly.

"I thought you of all people would want to stick it to the Marines."

"I don't want to 'stick it' to anyone... Besides, is it even the Marines you care about?" He... Might actually have a point. I'm shooting at Marines, but I'm fighting my own damn team: Damon, Trent, Jun... Maybe even Matteo.

"Winning is its own reward," I say.

"Winning is just a meaningless concept sought by empty men who desperately need to fill themselves." The words sound so strange coming out of Flaere's mouth until I realize it was Hunter's mouth. The cold, unattached look in his eyes gives him dead away. "We all end up the same in the end," he goes on, "Six feet under."

"Speak for yourself," I snort, "I'm getting cremated so they can turn my ashes into shotgun shells - did you know they could do that? - and have someone shoot my brother with them." I grin.

Hunter laughs, shaking his head. "I can see why Flaere likes you. I don't like it, but I can see why." They're not even pretending to be the same person anymore.

"You... Don't?" I laugh along nervously.

"We're here." Hunter points ahead. We just found the Marines' hub.

They had about as much time as we did to slap together a working base, so how come theirs is _so much better?_ They have an entire block of barracks outfitted with camping utilities and elegant communication arrays, packed with bored Marines.

They act like they've already beaten us. Half of them are just sitting around blowing off rations (while the army team starves...) and lighting up. We walk by a group playing poker with topless playing cards. _Poker._ It sends an involuntary shudder down my spine. I don't think I can ever look at that game the same way again!

"We're in," I speak into my earpiece instead.

"Of course you are..." Jun sighs, condescending as if dealing with children. "Marines: Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Expected." I conceal a snicker with my hand. "Don't get too cocky. Army just Aren't Ready to be Marines Yet. All you military types are dribbling morons with varying levels of muscle definition... They stored the flags in the treasury vault. You will need to get close to it for me to manually override the passcode. Do you think you can manage that, meat-for-brains?" I roll my eyes slightly. People this bitchy only come 'round once in a lifetime. Thank god.

"Leave that part to me. I'd call you whiskey-brained, but I think I already taught you that lesson." Someone like him needs to be reminded of his place. Often. Silence on the other end. So he's sulking - fine, whatever. All I need is a sober strategist, not a friend.

The big vault door of the treasury towers over us like a grouchy gatekeeper scarred with ugly rivets, but the meter- thick slab of steel is operated by only a simple electronic access pad. That looks like something Jun can manipulate...

"This is my stop," he confirms over the radio. A tiny drone crawls out from up my sleeve and hops off to latch onto the electronic pad.

It's kind of amazing watching Jun work through the tiny operative. The bot's legs spin like drills to unscrew the panel, revealing a web of wires inside.

"Hey there, beautiful..." Jun croons over the radio. The bot dives right in. Pops, whirrs and crackles from inside the panel. It gives off a puff of grey smoke. "Got you," Is that genuine enjoyment I hear in his smug voice? The vault door groans and slides open, just wide enough and long enough for us to slip in. As annoying as he is, you gotta admit he knows what he's doing!

"We're in!" I pump my fist excitedly.

"I know that, I just let you in," Jun is immediately cranky again, so what's new? My baton crackles to life, illuminating the treasury vault with an electric blue glow.

"It really is a tube light," Flaere comments.

"Nobody asked you." My baton lights up the metal skeletons of empty shelves, creating barred shadows that make the vault chamber look like the giant rib cage of some hollow, heartless monster. _Nothing._

"How is this possible..." I mutter. I sweep an arm over one of the shelves as if the money has somehow turned invisible. My sleeve comes back covered in crud; there's nothing here but dust! The light lands on an unassuming grey chest at the end of an aisle. The flags, maybe? Flaere hovers as I bring it down from the shelf. Wait a second, it can't be the flags... This chest is covered in a layer of dust. I reveal a swathe of the original white with a swipe of my hand. It needs a passcode too, just great...

I absentmindedly key in the numbers, '0704', so I can't believe my luck when the box actually opens.

"How did you do that?" Flaere wonders. I don't answer him because I've just seen what's in the box, and it ain't flags.

A silver revolver nestled in a puddle of black satin. Engraved along the side is one of the impressive towers of the Golden Gate Bridge, the cables stretched over the shining muzzle. I know this gun.

 

###

 

"We shouldn't be up here!" Cisco hissed at me. Back then, he was still a goody two-shoes, but he'd tiptoe after me in those shoes to get his thrills while I did all the dirty work. We were a couple of kids in the attic rummaging through things we really shouldn't have been.

"Just hold the flashlight," I said to him as I dug around in a cardboard box. He held on to that flashlight like he was holding a royal scepter for the Queen while she was in the bathroom. It awkwardly backlit his red, frizzy baby hairs that turned out from his scalp as if trying to mount an escape attempt.

"Found it!" I raised the holo-reader triumphantly. But when I booted it up, it presented me with a keypad to enter the 4-digit passcode. "Damn..."

"Try 07/04. It's my birthday," Cisco piped up. As soon as I keyed it in, the reader granted me access but I wasn't as excited anymore. It was always _his_ birthday... I distracted myself by browsing Father's secret-not-very-secret porno archive. Cisco craned his neck to peek over my shoulder.

"What are they _doing?_ " He sounded more grossed out than anything.

"I dunno." I grinned wide, cheered up just a little. It wasn't like we didn't know what sex was; the people in his videos just had really, _really_ inventive ways of doing it. Father always had the freakiest shit. I settled back into an old bean bag to watch. The plastic package of Cheetos on the hardwood floor rustled as I excavated a giant handful and stuffed it in my mouth, licking my fingers clean of neon orange powdered cheese while I chewed.

Cisco lost interest and drifted around the attic. He picked some things up and put them back down. Stood face to face with Dad's old army uniform mounted on a faceless mannequin..

"Hey Cisco, spell 'attic' out loud."

"Why?" He did it anyway. "A-Tee-Tee-I-" He stopped and slipped me a sideways glare. I grinned immaturely over the top of the tablet, sucking on a finger. "You're gross. Wooooahhh..." He picked something up.

"What?"   

"Look what I found." It was Father's prize revolver: the one he received as recognition for saving the city of San Francisco at the Battle of Golden Gate all those years ago. He brought it out once a year at Thanksgiving to regale an eager crowd of our uncles and cousins with the story - so this is where it spent its downtime. In retrospect, it's kinda ominous that I found Father's porn collection while Cisco found the symbol of his military honor...

I was interested in it for a different reason.

"Gimme that..." I plucked it right out of his hands, looking it over eagerly. Father's initials were carved into the bottom: 'DG'. But when I looked at that gun, I didn't see the family honor; the pure silver surface or the detailed engraving of the site of my father's greatest accomplishment. All I saw was a _weapon_. I pointed the revolver at Cisco jokingly. His eyes widened in horror.

"Quit it!"

"I'm not gonna shoot you," I chuckled, lowering it again. "But I bet the Schafer boys won't bother us anymore when they get a load of _this_."  

"Rayce, that's not a good idea..."

I just laughed and stuffed the revolver in my back pocket.

 

###

 

So what is Father's revolver doing _here_ of all places?

" _Rayce!_ " I snap back to reality with a jolt.

"Huh?"

"I said, what is that?"

"It's... It's nothing." I tilt the revolver to check the engraving. There are initials there, but they're not what I expected. 'SD'. Who the hell is SD? Wait... This isn't Father's gun. _There was a second revolver._ But who owned it? "I'm putting it back," I assure a suspicious Flaere, but as soon as he turns his back, I jam the revolver into my back pocket. I guess some things never change.

"Okay Jun, what the hell is going on?!" I get to my feet, demanding like I've ever gotten an answer from this fucking place full of secrets! So I'm shocked when I actually do get one:

"It's all gone, Gunner," Jun says through the earpiece, "The money is gone."

"But _how?_ "

"It's simple really. I'll explain it in terms you might understand." My mouth tilts. "Say you walk into a bar, and behind the counter is every kind of alcohol imaginable: anything you could ever want. The bartender happens to be your best friend; you get your drinks on the house."

"How Freudian," Hunter muses. Jun continues as if he hasn't spoken,

"Turns out you're a do-nothing alcoholic who drinks and drinks until you become a giant, disgusting drunk who fights with the other patrons and throws up on the counter, and all the while, you're going through your best buddy's stock like a wildfire. Suddenly, he doesn't like you so much anymore. What do you think is going to happen to you?"

Is it bad that I can easily envision his dumb little scenario, because versions of it have actually happened to me? I know how it ends because I've lived it: former friends tossing my sozzled ass out on the damp city streets, while I hurled insults and glass bottles back at the building. It dawns on me slowly, "He cut me off."

"Exactly. We're cut off. Clear doesn't want to pay for this military boondoggle anymore."

"I feel like it would have been easier to just tell us that..." Flaere says quietly.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to, Flaere!" Jun snaps at him harshly, then in a vindictive tone he says, "I wanted you to see this, Gunner. We're living day to day here, and it's all because your limp-wristed brother doesn't have a clue what he's doing, let alone a plan! Your father and your brother have failed us. Your family lives in _disgrace!_ " I shake my head.

"Shut up, just _shut up!_ " It can't be true... Look, I'm not even the jingoistic, star-spangled-banner-whistling army boy my brother is, but even I know that this army is humanity's last hope! They know that, right? Those fucking parasite politicians know that, right?! Something comes to me: the fragments of the reason we came here in the first place. I snatch at them desperately, piecing them back together,

"The flags! Where are they?" I look around the vault. Jun bursts out laughing so loud that the equipment emits an electronic whine; I pull the earpiece out, wincing.

"We're all going to die here and you think this stupid game matters? There are no flags, Gunner."

"What do you mean? Jun?!" But he doesn't answer me.

Instead, I hear the PA system turn on in the next room.

"Attention Marines, this is your technician, Jun Aoki speaking. Because you are completely incompetent, I've done your jobs for you. You'll find Rayce Gunner and Flaere have infiltrated your base of operations." No. Oh god no- "But fear not, for I've trapped them in the treasury vault. They're all yours now. Enjoy." The PA cuts out abruptly.

"Fuck!" I hurl the earpiece against the floor in my rage but the sound it makes isn't the least bit satisfying. Flaere and I back up, shrinking against the wall with our paintball guns pointed at the door as if that's going to help.

"He sold us out!" Flaere quails, then Hunter snaps viciously, "I knew we couldn't trust him!"

"They're coming!" I gasp. And they... Don't. "They hesitated."

Flaere has his gaze fixed on the door. Gee, I wonder why the Marines are so nervous; it's not like there's a _psychopath_ in here or anything...

"We've got about five seconds before a whole helluva lot of Marines come through that door. Any ideas?" I press him. My breath catches in my throat when he turns those eyes on me. They burn like hot coal.

"They think I'm a monster. So let's give them what they came for," he says mysteriously. Before I can ask him to sign a waiver absolving me of whatever the hell is about to happen, he hops onto one of the rusty shelving frames. His freakish flexibility really does make him look like a monster from my darkest nightmares as he rapidly scales the shelf up and out of the scope of my baton's light. Speaking of which - I shut it off just in time as the vault door opens.

My heart blares in my head; I'm just waiting to get caught creeping between the shelves.

"Gunner to home base, Gunner to home base!" I whisper furiously into my radio transmitter. "I need backup here." Silence. I duck a flashlight beams that slice through the air. "Trent? _Damon?_...Fuck." I've pissed off anyone who might have been willing to help me. I hear a scream and hastily tuck my radio away.

"It's _him!_ " Then a meaty impact. Something heavy being dragged along on the floor. I break into a cold sweat as I peer between the shelves. That was definitely Flaere taking a victim - _please, PLEASE don't kill anyone..._

"Stick together!" Shafali tries to scrape his scattered team back together. "Guys, we're stronger as a team!" No one is listening. " _Guys!_ "

"That's enough!" But they actually do listen when Sylphos is the one who barks the order. "Are we Marines or a bunch of feckless pissants? Answer me!" They stay silent. "This is Flaere we're talking about! That lunatic is one bad day away from smearing his own shit on the walls of a padded cell and eating through a funnel. You're really afraid of him?" Sylphos sweeps his teammates with stern eyes. "If we 'stick together' we won't cover enough ground and they'll escape. If we go alone, we'll be picked off one by one. So pair up!"

"Y-You heard him, pair up-" Shafali stammers, trying to take the lead again but,

"Yes, Sergeant!" The Marines drown his tiny voice right out and search the vault in duos.

"Shafali!" The purple-haired Marine jumps when Sylphos points at him. "You're with me."

"Sure..." he mutters.

That's my cue. I could make a break for the exit. _Oooor..._ I stare intensely at Shafali. Wanna bet that he knows exactly where the flags are? I could still win this. Still redeem myself. _'Your family lives in disgrace.'_ I know that winning this dumb game won't change that, won't prove a damn thing. So how come I'm already tailing them?

A beam of light from Sylphos' rifle scope sweeps the corridor. He takes point while Shafali trails behind him. His lowered face is hidden in the shell of his purple bangs until he finally gathers the courage to say,

"Sylphos, you're not the captain of this team."

"I know that." Sylphos answers without turning around.

"Then you need to let me do my job and just... Back off." Sylphos stops abruptly and turns to face him. Too far?

"There was no time to lose - I saw what had to be done and I made a call. What would you rather have me do? Just let us lose?"

"Yes! _Yes._ You keep saying 'I', but you are part of a team! Believe it or not Sylphos, not everything is about you." Shafali tries desperately to reason with him.

"We both know the only reason you're captain is because Weiser wanted Knotts to go easy on his special little snowflake soldiers, and he knew I would _never_ do that. This is just a glorified team-building retreat and you're camp counselor..." Hold on, say what now? This was _'going easy'?_ I don't even want to play hard mode!

"Take that back." Shafali grits his teeth but Sylphos keeps walking. "Sylphos!" He grabs the sniper by the wrist.

"Don't _touch me!"_ Sylphos whips around roaring. He unloads a cartridge of pellets at his partner in the space of a split second, putting the Marine right on his ass on the floor. Secondhand embarrassment makes me cringe. Shafali blinks incredulously as paint drips from the tip of his nose. Sylphos realizes what he did too late.

"Shafali, I..." he trails off. Pathologically incapable of apologizing. I might know the feeling.

"Forget it." Flecks of paint fly from his fringe as Shafali turns away sharply.

"So much for that famed Marine brotherhood." A voice from above makes Sylphos raise his rifle. The scope finds Hunter crouched on a shelf, staring down at him. Orange twists of hair hang loose around his face, casting eerie shadows on it. "You Marines think you're so much better than the rest of us but you bleed red like we do..." He tilts his head to a side and grins. "Ask me how I know."

"Flaere!" Sylphos unleashes another volley of shots as quickly as he can reload the rifle, breaking up the monotonous grey of the shelves with bright splotches of paint. Hunter disappears into the dark, cackling.

"Face it, _Sergeant Sterling_. You'll never find anyone better than me." He leaves behind a taunt.

"We'll see about that..." Sylphos puts his hands to the shelf, scaling it almost as fluidly as Flaere did.

"Sylphos! Sylphos, we have to stick together!" Shafali yells after him, but he leaves his partner behind in the dust and paint without a second thought. Now's my chance!

I snap down on Shafali like a trap, pulling my baton in between his teeth to pin him securely with his back against my chest. His angry expression turns horrified when he realizes what exactly he's biting down on. That's right, I brought 220 volts to this fistfight! I whisper close to his ear,

"Now unless you want me to fry your tongue right in your mouth, you're going to take me to those flags. Understand?" Shafali nods slowly.

 

Shafali leads me to Sylphos' room. _Wow,_ guess who wears the Captain's pants in this relationship? At least Shafali knows the access code to the mini electronic safe. _Beep._ The door swings open. Sweet, sweet white flags, the color of surrender...

"Finally." Extending my baton, I let it snap down around his wrists like a slap bracelet, making for a surprisingly convenient set of handcuffs. The flags are knotted together in a convenient chain for me to pull out like a prop in the world's greatest magic trick. "You shouldn't let him treat you like that," I mention off-handedly.

"Who, Sylphos?" Shafali laughs but it's a bitter, hollow sound.

"He's only looking out for number 1."

"I know that," he says quietly.

"So then you're either not as dumb as I thought, or even dumber."

Shafali goes on the defensive, "Sylphos is a good friend." I burst out laughing right in his indignant face.

"I'm sorry," I recover myself, shaking my head. "That's just the funniest thing I've ever heard. All I saw back there was a grovelling lover boy and someone willing to take advantage of that."

"I'm not a _lover boy!_ " I just shove the flags into my pocket, grinning. If he was so sure of that, he wouldn't be bright red right now!

The sound of footsteps reminds me it's time to go. A quick press of a button retracts my baton.

"Hey, I think we made a real breakthrough here today! Call me if you wanna schedule a followup appointment." I wink at him teasingly, already halfway out the door by the time Shafali remembers to yell,

"Here! We're in here!"

I cut through the cafeteria, sprinting as fast as I can. A paintball hits me, creating a patch of wetness on my back. Dammit. _Dammit!_ I cast a glance over my shoulder to see Sylphos leading the pack. He's outright taken the throne and...  Flaere hangs weakly in his grip.

"Give up," he suggests. His mocha lips curl into a smug smile. "We've already muzzled your attack dog." Flaere falls flat on his face as Sylphos shoves him forward.

"That was pretty cold, the way you abandoned him like that. Hey, maybe you should change your name to _Runner!_ " Sylphos heckles. It isn't even that funny but his lackies laugh along like a clique of mean kids. I have nowhere to go.

At least that's what I thought until the opposite door blows open. My mouth falls open.

" _Damon?!_ "  

"You called?" He stands at the helm of a small army. That bastard actually pulled through!

"Where have you been?" I demand. He shrugs it off.

"Hey, gimme a break, I lost my watch. Do you have any idea how many asses I had to search?"

"Oh my god," I groan.

"Shut your fucking cock holsters before we shut them _for_ you!" Sylphos directs the Marines forward.

"You know what to do," Damon waves at the soldiers irreverently. Both sides collide in the middle of the cafeteria like opposing tides. Explosions of paint all around me like a hundred colorful land mines going off at the same time, disorienting me, but I eventually find him.

"Flaere!" I drop to his side. He stirs slowly and speaks with a gravelly voice,

"Not good enough, not good enough... I'm never good enough..." His orange hair drags on the tiles as he crawls to his hands and knees.

"Are you okay?" In response, he lunges at me. "Hey, _woah!_ " His hand goes straight to my back pocket where he steals the revolver. "Hunter! Where are you going with that?!" He's already on his feet,disappearing in the chaos. Little Cisco would have told me that is _not_ a good idea, and he'd be right!

It's like he has his _scent_ : Hunter tracks Sylphos down like a bloodhound. One moment he's smitten with him and the next he wants to shoot him in the head. What the fuck is wrong with this guy!

"Sylphos, watch out!" By some miracle, Sylphos actually hears me. He lifts his head, eyes widening when he catches sight of Hunter's gun. He ducks out of the way. I push Hunter, making his shot angle off and ricochet from the ceiling. The crowd around us recoils from the sound, looking on in horror.

"You tried to shoot him! You almost shot Sylphos!" I hiss desperately in his ear, to remind him what exactly he just did. It's as if he's hearing it for the first time. Flaere's grey eyes widen. He drops to his knees and buries his face in his hands. Flaere goes from psycho killer to injured cinnamon roll in 3.5: I just can't keep up with these guys! Especially when a tan hand picks up the silver revolver.

I turn around to face Sylphos.

"Put that down, Sterling." It just emboldens him to point it, staring down the crumpled up form of Flaere over the sight of the pistol.

"I'm ending this."

"He's not a threat to you." And now I'm just saying things that aren't true.

"Not a threat? He's the biggest threat to this army that isn't a vampire! He just tried to _kill_ me. We can't trust him!" Sylphos jerks the gun at a sobbing Flaere.

"He deserves another chance!"

"The only thing he deserves is to be put down like the rabid dog he is."

"He's right, Rayce!" Flaere wails, "You should just get rid of me before I hurt someone..."

"You're not helping!" I snap at him.

"Fuck, this is getting good."  Damon folds his arms, amused. "Drama in the Gunner harem. Who has popcorn?"

"Not a harem."

" _Definitely_ not a harem." Sylphos glares at him, then back at me. "Now get out of my way."

"You're not going to shoot Flaere dead in front of all these people." I reach for the revolver. He narrows his eyes at me.

 _Cra-ack!_ Sylphos strikes me across the face with the butt of the gun, knocking me right into a frozen moment of clarity. _Why?_ Why do I try so hard to reason with these bratty slaves?

"Yoink!" White flags soaring through the air. For a second I'm confused, then I figure it out: he took my flags!

"Hey!" The tail of the flag chain slips right through my fingers. Sylphos cuts into the crowd, laughter echoing back. "Get back here!" But when I move to follow him, his chunky teammates stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking my path. Just perfect, it's the great wall of dickheads... I drop low and bolt through between a pair of legs.

 

###

 

Sylphos' blue head of hair disappears into the terrifying foliage of the Forests of Decay. Okay, this is bad. This is reeeeaaally bad. Pacing back and forth in front of the forest isn't going to make Sylphos come back, at least, I don't think it will... Nah, it's not working. But the thought of following him into the forest is _terrifying_ . There are... _things_ in there and freakish melting plants... And I haven't even gotten to the part where it's _filled with goddamn vampires!_ Then the thought that smug look on drill sergeant Knotts' face creeps in and suddenly I'm weed-whacking my way into the forest with just my baton. Hunter had it all wrong: I don't give a fuck about winning. I just hate _losing!_

I jump at every sound in this freaky forest, watching the plants decay- which sounds like some version of watching paint dry - but no, much faster. I am never going to get used to that. Somewhere above my head is the sound of strange birds calling to each other. Down here, the humidity makes me feel like I'm swimming through hot tomato soup. It soaks into my clothes, my hair... Even my brain, turning it into stewed mush. No vamps yet but I don't trust my luck to hold on that point. I mop my brow with a sleeve.

"Sterling, just admit you lost and get back here before you get yourself killed out here!" I follow a trail of broken twigs and branches... That's what Weiser taught us to do in survival training, anyway. Slipping through a curtain of branches, I have to blink a few times, not because the light is too bright, but because I'm shocked those army lessons were actually good for something! The forest canopy is usually so thick that not much sunlight actually gets through, but here, it fills the clearing like a bowl and bounces from the surface of a sparkling pond. Finding Sylphos is too easy.

Sylphos lies on his side in the grass, curled up and faced away from me. My heart skips a beat: _is he hurt?_

"Sylphos!" I hear soft panting. His body rises and falls rapidly with short breaths sucked in and spat out too quickly. He moves a hand vigorously. _Is he_... I have to walk around him to confirm my suspicions: the Marine has his fingers buried deep in his snatch, fingering himself desperately. Really? We're in the middle of a toxic forest infested with vampires and he looked around and thought, 'hey, you know what would be a great place to masturbate?'

"Are you kidding me with this?" I stare in disbelief. He takes one look at me and squeezes his eyes shut as if that might make me disappear.

"Fuck... _Fuck!_ " But he doesn't stop, if anything, it looks like he's going at himself even harder. His pants lie crumpled in a careless pile a short distance away, leaving his strong legs exposed to the muggy air of the forest. He's definitely breaking a sweat... Glaring at me, Sylphos draws his thighs closer together just to spoil my view. I found something more interesting anyway - well, not more _interesting,_ but more important, I guess! He traces my gaze to the flags clutched in his other hand.

"Dammit," he curses under his breath, "Can't we just... Can't we call a timeout or something?"

"I don't think so," I chuckle. He makes a token attempt at trying to stop me, but I easily shake him off _my_ flags and pocket them. I think I hear him mutter 'fuck it' before he lets his second hand join the first, jacking himself off in time with his thrusts.

"There's nothing to see here, pervert," Sylphos growls. I just laugh.  

"Let's agree to disagree! _Freak._ What's the matter with you?"

"None of your business," he says moodily. Clamming up even more, he digs at himself as if trying to satisfy a really, _really_ stubborn itch. Wait a second... It dawns on me slowly. Maybe that's exactly what it is!

"You can't control it, can you? You need it..."

"I didn't ask for your medical opinion, Dr. Dumbass," he snarls at me.

"Maybe Dr. Dick can give you a second opinion." The sound of my zipper coming undone makes his head pop up. He takes one look at my rocket and drags himself backwards through the grass,

"No, no, no, you get that fucking thing away from me!" He doesn't get very far before he collapses, addled with blind lust. "Why won't it _stoooop?_ " Sylphos howls. His pussy lubricates stubbornly just to spite him. Hey, women can be difficult! Sticky female desire leaks around his fingers and drips into the grass. It's like a living... breathing... _Needy_ thing. It needs _me_. Who am I to say no to a lady?

I trap Sylphos in the cage of my hands and knees.

"Get _off!_ "

"That was the idea!" I grin at him. Flaere isn't here to save him this time and besides, he's in no position to be refusing me! I have to pry his legs apart, and that's not easy because this guy never skips leg day... He eventually does pop open with a gasp and I'm only too eager to wedge myself in between. Sylphos is cussing at me but I've learned to tune him out as I toss his leg over my shoulder and prod experimentally at his wetness.

"Gunner..." he moans, tightening his tan fists around patches of grass... Hey, that's what I like to hear! My player has been dying to meet his girl... And now nothing is stopping me from taking what I deserve with a smooth thrust..

Oh God, that feels _right._ Steamy, tight and wet in all the right ways... I let myself rest inside him, just getting used to all the new sensations. When I open my eyes, I see Sylphos on his side, head propped up on a hand and staring at me, bored.

"Wh-What?" I feel a blush crossing my face.

"Look, I know you're probably a virgin or something, but you actually have to _move_ the thing inside the thing."

"I am not a virgin!" My face gets hot.

"And I'm not a woman, yet here we are. So we might as well make the most of it."

"Is that you _asking for it?_ "

"For the record, no. Do you have any idea what sleeping with you would do to my reputation?" Sylphos locks down with thighs of steel. All I can do is squeak in alarm as he twists me down to the grass like a goddamn wrestler, and he steals top position like the grand prize. He smirks down at my shocked expression. "But _off_ record..." My breath catches in my throat as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. The camouflage print cloth falls away from his toned chest, revealing contours that look like they were carved into the hard, thick trunk of a deep amber tree. I dare to rest my hands on his hips, marveling at the way he feels: pure strength resting just below his taut skin.

Sylphos enjoys the attention - the _worship -_ if his smug expression is anything to go on.

"I think we can help each other out," he says, "We both have something the other wants." So he's trading me pussy in exchange for certain... _Services_. Works for me! He places his hands over mine on his hips and looks at me sternly. "Strictly business. And none of that master slave bullcrap either..."

"I _promise_." I grin.

He looks at me distrustfully, but he can't control himself anymore as he drops down on my cock, sheathing me in one move. So _good_... I moan loudly and squirm under him. He doesn't keep me waiting long.

Sylphos starts riding me like a racehorse, trying to feel something, _anything_ , but it looks like all he's doing is getting wet. He moans with frustration as he uses me like a glorified juicer.

"Sylphos!" I gasp, overwhelmed. I want control.

So I take it. I turn the tables on Sylphos, rolling on top of him. I silence his protest by thrusting in to the hilt.

"What are you doing," he snarls at me.

"Relax," I wink at him "You're working with a professional." I switch strategies: pushing gently but deeply inside the warm, slick tunnel.

"Why-" He cuts himself off with a surprised but pleasured sound as I grind against him like a lover.

"We're partners, right? You don't have to do all the work anymore..." I run my hands down his sides sensually. He tenses at the contact, unaccustomed to actually having his masturbatory tools reciprocate. Yeah, vibrators are nice, but can they hold him like this? Sylphos hesitates before he grabs my collar to tear away my shirt. I rest on top of him, chest to chest, rising and falling with his breaths. I seek out the curve of his neck and plant kisses there. " _Rayce..._ " It's not enough for him as he gathers my face in both hands and crushes his lips against mine.

I feel my face go warm immediately and my heart pounds with the revelation: I'm making out with _Sylphos Sterling._ On my fucked up planet, kissing feels more serious than literal fucking. Something about all the squishy, mushy emotions involved... It's much simpler when it's just squishy parts mashing together. But I can't stop - or maybe I don't want to - cupping the back of his head as I angle him into a deeper kiss. I feel the shudder that goes through his body and the tiny cry of surprise he pipes into my mouth when an orgasm sneaks up on him. It's almost... _Cute._

Another satisfied customer! Hey maybe _I'm_ the one who should start charging... Sylphos looks much calmer now that his greedy pussy isn't lubricating like an auto parts factory!

"Hey," But Sylphos doesn't sound as defensive as before when I gather him up in my arms.

"So how'd I do, Sergeant?" I grin cheesily. He crosses his arms over his chest, embarrassed. No answer is a good answer: he doesn't want to admit how much he enjoyed himself!

"Fuck off..." he mutters.

"Your pussy seemed to think I did a good job..." And it made a huge mess to show its appreciation. My crotch is splattered with his juices and he's not doing much better. All the wet stuff is fun until you're frantically tearing your brother's sheets off the mattress and tossing them in the wash, hoping they'll come out clean before he gets back from work... I know a faster way!

Sylphos yelps when I toss him into the crystal clear water of the pond. Azure waves of hair bloom over the surface; he bursts through the middle of it, gasping for air.

"Not funny!"

" _Cannonball!_ " I take a running leap, curling up tight before I plunge straight into cold water. I come up laughing and pushing wet locks of hair out of my face.

"Idiot..." Sylphos splashes me, but he can't hide the tiny smile on his face.

Sylphos swims to the other side and lifts himself out onto a flat rock. Crouched there, he draws his fingers through his long wet hair, lazily detangling it. I sink up to my nose, blowing bubbles into the water. _Fuck, he's hot..._

I pop up like a lake monster and wrap my arms around him from behind.

"Quit it." But he sounds more amused than annoyed.

"Wow, who are you and what have you done with Sylphos?" I squeeze him teasingly and rest my chin on his shoulder. "Looks like all you needed was some good dick, huh?"

"This doesn't change anything." He slips me a stern look. "And if anyone back at the base finds out about this-"

"You'll do something horrible to me, yeah, yeah..." I sigh, burying my face in his neck. "I know all that." Eeeeveryone wants sex but they can't deal with the consequences... _Consequences_. I lift my head abruptly.

"Wait, you can't get pregnant, right?" I ask.

"You mean you weren't using protection?" His eyes widen. My blood runs cold.

"What, no, who uses _protection-!_ " He's on his feet in a second, _enraged_ , while I'm backing away through the water-

"What did you think was going to happen when you put your dick in someone's vagina?! I've never met anyone as stupid, irresponsible... Worthless _perv!_ "

"Oh God, I didn't-!" I slap my hands over my mouth in horror. "I can't! I can't do this! You can't hold me responsible for this!"

"Deadbeat!" The accusation hits me like a punch in the gut. "What am I going to do with this baby? _Our_ baby?!" He gestures at his washboard stomach.

"I don't know!"

"Well I do. I'm gonna make you pay, Gunner..." A nasty grin spreads over his face. "Or worse: I'm gonna make you _settle down._ "

" _NOOOOOOO!!!_ " That's it; game over... My life... My _sex life..._ I can't possibly raise a child, I don't know how to teach him how to ride a bike! He's going to die on that bike! I need to buy a safer bike! I- _Laughter._ I turn back to Sylphos, eyes brimming. He shakes his head, still chuckling.

"Relax, Gunner. I was just messing with you... I'm sterile."

"Sterile," I repeat in a sigh of relief. False alarm, we can postpone the college fund... "Oh fuck you, Sylphos..."

I try to work it out in my head as we both put our clothes on in silence.

"So if you've got a guilt-free orgasm box built right into your hips, how come you never use it?" I ask him.

"First of all, don't call it that." He looks at me, annoyed. "Secondly, I do use it... Just not usually with other people... You don't know what it's like to be me. This 'guilt-free orgasm box'? It's a curse."

"Why would you say that?" That thing is incredible!

"What can I say, Rayce?" He smiles humorlessly. "All men are pigs."  

Before I can pry further, I notice a gray veil of fog is rolling in between the trees. It consumes the springy grass without a sound and collects over the clear surface of the pond.  I shiver in the sudden chill and take notice of my newly-visible breath.

"Who you gonna call?" I smile nervously over at Sylphos. His lips are slightly parted but he doesn't answer. "See, this is the part where you yell: 'Ghostbusters!'"

"I know what this is," he says quietly.

"What do you mean?" He runs into the forest in the direction where the fog came from. I have no choice but to chase after him.

I'm going to lose him in this impossibly thick fog and then I'll _really_ be fucked. I can barely see the ground, let alone the faint blue of Sylphos' hair, but I cling to it like a lifeline.

"Sylphos? _Sylphos!_ " Sprinting, I can't stop when his shape emerges rapidly through the fog and crash right into it.

"What is wrong with you!" He pushes me off.

"You're the one who ran off without an explanation!" He stands up and points.

"Is that explanation enough for you?" I look out over the fog blanket to see the tops of concrete buildings poking through. But that's impossible.

"There's no one else in the Forests of Decay but the army," I say in disbelief. He looks grim before sliding carefully down the hill towards the foggy town. "Don't you want to wait for backup?" I echo after him nervously.

We find a gray cinder block wall that must be ten feet tall and forever long, extending off into the fog on both sides.

"Give me a boost," Sylphos demands.

After I do it, I call as softly as I can, "Now what?" In response, a cinder block sails over the top of the wall attached to the rope of white flags. Wait, when did he steal those back from me?! I just keep my mouth shut and climb.

The soles of my boots land heavily in the dust on the other side. There's no grass here, just gray dirt like ashes. This place is creepy as hell: I can see the silhouettes of buildings through the fog, but the whole place is eerily empty. At least until a dark shape comes into view.

Sylphos tackles me out of the way behind a building just in time. We see the man march by in a black uniform. His head is concealed in a helmet and he holds a rifle. I see Sylphos grip his paintball gun tighter, but at this point it's just a placebo.  

"Vampire?" I ask breathlessly when I think he's out of earshot. My partner nods slowly. He tries one of the doors and swears,

"Fuck! It's locked..."

I run my fingers over the gritty concrete walls. How come these buildings don't have windows? Sylphos backs up, narrowing his eyes at the building.

"There's a skylight," he says. And _how_ does he know that? Sylphos produces a pair of suction holds from his cargo pants pocket.

"Hey, how come we don't get those?" I wonder out loud.

"Because you wouldn't be strong enough to use them. Marine-issued only. I'll get in through the skylight and find a way to let you in." He syncs our radios and begins scaling the sheer concrete.   

It's taking him _way_ too long. Did he get caught? The sound of a harsh voice makes me jump, shattering the silence of this odd place.

"Move it along! _Faster!_ " I cast a nervous glance at the door. Well, Sylphos has a radio. He can call me. I move swiftly towards the sound to find the town center. A massive black dropship is just casually parked there. The spinning blades of the aircraft are strong enough to keep the fog banks at bay, but they make no sound save for a dull humming noise. That's a classy - not to mention _expensive_ \- ship. The massive cargo doors are wide open to allow a thin stream of passengers to board the ship. Passengers... Or should I say _prisoners?_ Starkly naked, they walk a single file death march. Thick chains link them by the throats and wrists, clinking as they go. Guards dressed in black goad them along with threatening prods of their rifles.

I can't tell at first, because all their heads are shaved, but the lineup consists of men _and_ women.

"Hey, nice tits, baby!" A man at the entrance of the dropship wolf whistles crudely to one of the female prisoners. He's the only one not in uniform, wearing a corny old varsity jacket and a snapback turned backwards over his messy golden hair like the cover model for popular jock monthly... Grinning, he takes a swig from a Gatorade squeeze bottle. A red trickle escapes his lips. _Blood_. He's a vampire. Across from him, a uniformed guard holds a scanner. He scans a barcode tattooed on the back of each prisoner's neck before waving them through.

When the last of the prisoners is loaded on the dropship, the vampire passes a briefcase to the guard but just before he can take it,

"Ah-ah-ah, I don't think so..." The vampire pops open the briefcase. I feel my eyes go wide. It's full of _money_ , all cash. The vamp removes a few stacks and tucks them back into his deep pockets. "They look a little scrawny. Don't forget to feed them next time." The guard accepts the discounted payment without argument. My stomach churns at the sight. They're selling people like _produce_ ; fucking scanning barcodes in the checkout aisle of this bizarre grocery store.

"And one other thing..." The vampire pauses in the doorway of his ship. "What's the word on the _gourmets?_ "

"Soon," the guard says simply.

"That's what I'm talking about!" The jock vampire grins and licks his lips unpleasantly. He slaps the side of the dropship before stepping inside. "Let's move!" The doors close before it lifts off.

I slip around the corner to hide as the guards return to their posts. The briefcase full of blood money hangs ominously between them. Just then-

"Gunner, where the hell are you?" The radio comes to life at the worst possible time. The guards turn this way. Time to go! I push off running, hearing them yell in my wake.

"The product got loose!" They have guns but they don't shoot me down - worried about damaging the _product?_ I round a corner, gasping for air. I can't keep ahead of them forever! Right next to me against the building is a pair of industrial blue plastic barrels. One of them is full to the brim with flavorless nutriblock: it looks like tofu and tastes worse somehow... No wonder the product was so scrawny if this is what they're feeding them. I grin at my reflection in the second barrel. _Water_.

A small tidal wave floods the alley and laps against the guards' boots as I tip the barrel. They pause just long enough for me to crank my baton up to one of the highest settings and toss it onto the wet floor. Screaming and the sound of crackling electricity fill the alley, then goes abruptly quiet. A quick peek around the corner: it worked! The three vampire guards are unconscious. I stroll casually back into the corridor and scoop up my baton. An indicator glows red on the handle. Out of juice... I almost turn around when I catch something out of the corner of my eye and do a double take.

The zipper of one of the guard's black jacket is open just wide enough to reveal half of a logo. It looks familiar. I tear open his jacket. My jaw drops. A Clear Republic Army uniform. _No._ This can't be... Prying off his helmet, I fish around in the unconscious man's mouth. Fangs, fangs, _please_ give me fangs... Nothing. What is this supposed to mean? The memory of the empty treasury comes back to me as I step backwards in horror. The army is selling people to _vampires_. I twist around and run away.

"No!" A cry escapes my throat when I feel someone grab me by the shirt. Yanked sharply into the darkness of a building and the door closes behind me. "Lemme go- mmmph!"

" _Sssssh!_ "  Sylphos has a hand clamped over my mouth. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

"I should be asking you that!" I whisper furiously.

"We have bigger problems..." I finally get a moment to look around. We stand on an observation walkway above what looks like a glorified hole in the ground.

"Oh God..." I swear, looking around at all the people down there. Just like the product I saw being sold to the vampire, they're shaved and naked. _Barcodes_ on the back of their necks. They sit huddled close together for warmth, barely moving. I hear a baby crying somewhere down there. I can't look anymore, backing away from the edge. Have to fight down a wave of nausea.

"There are kids down there," I moan, digging my hands into my hair.

"I thought you hated kids." Sylphos smiles grimly.

"That's not funny!" I shake my head at him in disbelief. How is he not _freaking out_ about this?!

"It's a human farm," he says, "Vamp bastards... I guess it was just a matter of time."

I stare at Sylphos' back.

"Yeah... Vamps."

"We have to get back to headquarters. There's nothing we can do for these people right now." Sylphos brushes past me on the way to the door. He really meant it when he said he was strictly business. I have my gaze fixed on the white tile pattern of the floor. Guilt seeps into my brain to mix with the terror it's been marinating in.

 

###

 

The door slides open soundlessly, but of course Cisco hears it anyway. He has his back to the door, studying a holo map of Fade. He moves a unit around on the projection.

"Right on time," he says distractedly, "Any news on Ve-?" He turns around and stops talking when he sees me.

"Not who you were expecting?" I ask.

"What are you doing in here?" he demands, frigid. And I just want to _tell him._ Just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake his dumb head until his brain resets and turns back into that sweet kid that I knew couldn't hurt a fly... And is now somehow selling kids to vampires like choice veal? It just can't be. This isn't the Cisco I knew. I feel a sting at my eye that I don't allow to graduate into a tear.

"Why did you bring me here?" I beg him for the answer.

"To train slaves for Axel's program," he says blankly. "Not that you seem to be doing a good job."

"Tell me the _truth!_ "

Cisco suddenly goes very quiet. He looks at me intensely like he's reading my mind.

"Don't," he says just as I open my mouth to speak again. He moves towards me cautiously, as if one wrong move could make the floor fall out from under us. I shut my lips beneath the finger he places over them. "Don't say it," he breathes, "If you do, I have to make you disappear." My eyes widen; I search his light grey gaze for answers and find none. _Disappear?_ Like the blood farm in the fog? Like the people climbing onto the airship? ...Like the Gunner family honor?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Cisco's star sign is Cancer! Cancerians, unite! The rest of them? I like to think it's pretty guess-able if you're into that stuff.


	12. The Reaper's Hit List

"Time's up, recruits!" Drill Sergeant Thade Knotts' booming voice projects over the training ground from where he paces in front of us. His withering gaze blazes a trail over the rows of soldiers. I half expect them to spontaneously combust. Meanwhile, Weiser gets to sit back for a change and leave the third degree to Knotts, sipping coffee from a thermos and thumbing casually through a holo-reader. "Maybe you learned something, maybe you didn't, I don't really care. All I want to know is..." Knotts' razor-sharp jaw slices the air as he turns to Shafali. "Flags! How many?" Shafali pales, realizing he actually has to say the words,

"None... Sir..." Weiser chokes on his coffee. Knotts' entire face seems to widen out to accommodate all the anger that collects there, and for a second, I think he might bite off Shafali's head and swallow it whole.

"Explain." He gives his soldier one last chance at redemption as Weiser coughs and mops his beard with a handkerchief.

"We had the flags!" Shafali blubbers, "We had them and then Sterling-"

"And Sterling _nothing!_ " Thade cuts him brutally short. "You are the captain of this team and that means their victories are your victories; their losses are your _failures._ " Shafali flinches. Sylphos was more than happy to shoulder off the captain role as soon as everything went to shit... His blue hair is tucked neatly back into his soft camo cap and he stands straight at attention. He's a picture of military discipline. But now when I look at him, all I can picture is him naked and screaming my name... Oh, and a depraved human meat farm in the forest.

"And you?" Weiser asks Trent. The big soldier's jaw tightens. I step forward before he can speak.

"It was me," I say, "I took over so if you're gonna yell at someone, it should be me." What can I say, I'm setting a good example for a change. Trent looks surprised, but he doesn't exactly stop me.

"Zero!" Weiser is practically pleading with me at this point, shaking his head. "All you people had to do was better than _zero!_ "

"A-And we did!" It's my turn to be surprised when Finn pipes up and pulls a flag out of his pocket. My eyes widen. Of course! The one we found in the room before we got err... _Distracted_.

"One!" I move faster than my own brain, scooping Finn up so I can swing him around like we just got hitched at a cheesy motel in the middle of nowhere!

"P-Put me down." He scrambles in my arms until I do. I follow his gaze to a stormy look on his boyfriend's face. Well fuck him, the celebration is already underway and he isn't invited. Under the bridges of soldiers exchanging high fives, I see Thade reprimanding his Marines,

"Back to drills for you sorry lot, where you can't embarrass me anymore - double time!" He directs the harshest punishment at Shafali: "And I sincerely hope you like potatoes because you're about to get to second base with 500 of them. Kitchen duty, Marine."

Shafali salutes weakly. "Sir, yessir."

"Let's move, ladies!" Thade's barking chases them right back into the Humvee. I accidentally lock eyes with Sylphos. Sulphur yellow focuses on me for an intense second,

_'We know what we saw in that forest.'_

_'You'd better take my secret to your grave.'_

_'Gross, he has spinach in his teeth.'_ All I can do is guess at what he's thinking when he abruptly breaks eye contact and follows the others. Absentmindedly, I pick between my teeth.

"Congratulations, Gunner." Weiser claps me on the back. "I haven't seen anyone seat-of-their-pants it that hard since Draven and I saved San Francisco." _No way_. My finger falls right out of my open mouth.

"You were with my father at the Battle of Golden Gate?"

"Of course! Served right alongside him. So did Thade." Weiser regards my stunned expression for a moment before saying wearily, "Draven doesn't tell that part of the story, does he?"

"Well it's a little too late for that now." I try to read his older face like a cheatsheet to my father's life. _Tell me something_. Weiser's raven beard tallies the years in silver stripes, but I'll bet his ice blue eyes are every bit as bright as they used to be back when he was a fresh-faced recruit with my father... It feels strange to think about it now: my father had a whole life here that I'll never know about. Friends, rivals probably lovers too- um, not Weiser though. Right? Fuck, I wouldn't know even if he was, because my father wasn't exactly the sharing type... Weiser isn't the 'SD' from the revolver engraving, anyway. But he might know who is...

"Your father was a good man." Weiser breaks the awkward silence. That's just something people say about dead people to make themselves feel better, whether or not it's actually true.

"You think I don't remember you," The words taste bitter, so I spit them out vindictively. His brow rises. "You think... that I was too young. But I remember. You didn't help him." That's when his eyes get really big and it leaves me with a sick little sense of satisfaction, even if that won't help a damn thing. "You _left_ him."

"Rayce," Weiser can't even look at me as he turns away, clutching at his chest.

Well I wish I had time to sit here and nurse his hurt feelings, but I've just been distracted by a violet shape over his shoulder. Jun's curtain of hair fluttering behind him as he returns to the building. I have unfinished business with him.

The holographic screens outline Jun's head in glowing blue. It's the only light in the darkened security room. I glance at the compact grid of camera screens: Jun has a thousand eyes and they're scattered all over HQ. He _sees_ things, like Sylphos' sticky little secret - and what else? If there's anyone who knows how the slave program and the farm fit together, it has to be him. It's _gotta_ be.

"If you are unfamiliar with mathematics beyond a third grade level, you don't belong here," he says quietly. Of course, he's not to going to give it up that easily.

"How many times, Jun?" He stiffens at the sound my baton makes when I strike it against my palm. Jun whips around like a fucking cowboy at high noon, pistol in hand. I'm ready. Knocking it from his grip, I catch him when he dives to retrieve it, pinning his hand to the floor with the point of my baton. "I didn't appreciate your little stunt in the treasury vault." I punctuate that by grinding it into the cold, hard tile. He screams.

Jun reins himself in, breathing hard. He drags his nails on the tile and squeezes into a defiant fist. Too proud to give me the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

"But you showed me that vault for a reason," I say, "You know something about the slave program, don't you?"

"Fuck... You..." he growls.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Winces when I snap at him. "If there's one thing I know about you, it's that you aren't dumb."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I? Don't I, Jun?!" I wrench Jun to his feet and just _put my hands on him_. Tearing at his clothes, anything to get through that perfectly fake exterior to the rotten core inside him.

"No!" He digs in his nails; I tear open his pristine white shirt. Buttons pop and hit the floor, revealing porcelain skin underneath. "Get _away_ from me!" Jun slips my grip, but he doesn't get far when I grab the leg of his pants. He trips and sprawls out on the tiles, kicking and screaming.

"I know the _real_ you. You're not some high roller in a suit! You're a trainwreck," I hiss. Hand over hand, I reel him in by the fabric, but fabric is all I get as he desperately wriggles out of his pants and stumbles to his feet again.

Jun shrieks when I lock down tight around his waist. His hand swipes just short of the door handle before I hoist the willowy engineer over my shoulder. This conquest is _mine_ and it's been a long time coming...

"Let go, let go, what is wrong with you!" His soft fists drum helplessly against my back, his legs kick at the air. I toss him down on the control panel. The tattered remains of his clothing settle around his hips. I don't give him a second to catch his breath when I grip the band of his briefs with my teeth and pull them down over his long legs. Peeling them off at the ankles, I come up holding the insides of his knees and fold them right up against his chest.

"Oh god," he moans, burying his face in his hands as I lap at his entrance to prepare it.

Jun bites his lip when I enter him, looking up to the screens behind his head. Or heaven, whatever, anything that isn't me.I force his attention anyway, pinning his wrists to the holo screen which buzzes in complaint. We hit a button on accident.

 _"Internal temperature set to 95 degrees Fahrenheit."_ The robotic voice of the system monotones.

"What did you do?!" he gasps but I'm just grinning. Hey, that was kind of fun! Every thrust fucks up some poor guy's day.

' _Shower temperature set to 10 degrees Fahrenheit._ '

' _Sealing residential blocks 7 through 10._ '

' _Releasing canine impound 3._ '

 _'Incinerating jello supply._ '

It's a shame he isn't having as much fun as I am! Jun looks wildly from side to side at the indicators going off like Christmas lights. Alarms wail in the background. I know it drives him insane when he doesn't have control over every little thing and - even worse - he can't do a damn thing about it, helplessly pinned to the screen.

"You're ruining everything!" he howls. "Why are you _torturing_ me like this?" His brown eyes fill with tears. He chokes on the words when I hilt inside him, my face inches from his.

"You did this to yourself. Like you always do," I taunt him. His bottom lip trembles.

"You don't know me..."

"Come on, I know you, Jun... Everyone knows you." I grind inside him. He's so warm for someone so frigid. "You're a neurotic trust fund baby who thinks he was born better than everyone else... But without the money, you're the same as us. And guess what? You can't just joyride through life in Daddy's Cadillac anymore! So now you have to drink yourself half to death just to stand the taste of your own life." Jun lowers his head. "And you know what the really, _really_ fucked up part is?" He doesn't reply but this is the best part! "I like it."

Jun looks up at me, shocked.

"What's the point being so perfect all the time?" I smirk at him, wiping away one of his tears with my thumb. "Fucked-up Jun is hot."  

"Foolish," he whispers, like I don't know that. I thought when I peeled back the shiny wrapper and saw what was underneath, that I'd be done with him. I decided I didn't want him. So how come I still wanna taste him so bad... "You're such an idiot."

Suddenly, Jun throws himself at me. For once, it isn't an escape attempt! Before I can stop him, he's tearing off my shirt, slipping his arms past the folds to caress whatever he can find. Meanwhile he locks his legs around my hips for leverage. _Shoot -!_ I nearly blow when he begins thrusting back in time with me.

"Just give it to me, Gunner." He tosses his hair. Shimmering purple cascades down around his shoulders - _ow!_ I jerk when he bites down on a nipple and shoots me a fierce glare.

Breathless, I'm just racing to keep up as he revs the engine on this Ferrari, practically milking me. Jun sees the look on my face and he - _almost_ \- smiles. Thin fingers sink into my hair - he pulls me in and then I'm desperately gasping into his chest.

"That's it, let it out! It's _mine_ ." Sultry growling fills my ears. I feel his hands running through my hair like I'm _his_ pet instead of the other way around, but I'm the helpless one trapped in his arms now. All I can physically achieve is one last deep hilting before I paint his walls white.

I roll off of him to sit on the panel beside him, tilting my head back against the wall. The only sound in the control room is us gasping for breath as we come down from that high. Well, you know, aside from all the alarms and the robotic voice whining, 'danger, danger, danger'. I'm sure it's nothing.

"We're all prisoners, Gunner," he says abruptly.

"Yeah in a way, I guess..." I blink dreamily at the ceiling. "We're all prisoners of something."

Jun groans, "No, I mean _literally._ "

"Oh." That's when I realize he's actually giving me the information I came here for. I look at him, surprised.

"Everyone in the slave program are criminals. Including you. Right?" I get caught in his sticky, honey brown gaze. Avoiding the question, I ask,

"What does it mean?"

"It means we can disappear. And _no one_ will come looking for us."

Our conversation is cut off - Jun turns to the opening door to find the furious form of Lieutenant Axel.

"What's going on here?" he demands. He answers his own question as he takes in the scene. We slide off the panel.

"Training," I answer quickly.

"Oh really?" He glides into the room like a venomous jellyfish stalking the waters. Jun takes a big step back but has to resort to squeezing his eyes closed and hoping he doesn't get stung as Axel walks around him, looking him up and down like his next meal. "I have plans for this one, you know. _Big plans_."

"Plans?" I echo uncertainly,

"I'm a designer, Gunner," he says, capturing Jun's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts the pretty engineer's face. "What can I say? A muse like this doesn't come around every day. Pop quiz!" Axel suddenly shoves Jun down on his knees. Jun watches distrustfully as he undoes his pants. "He has quite a reputation. The men call him the 'pencil sharpener'. Know why that is?" With Axel's erect cock inches in front of Jun's mouth, and Damon's words echoing in my ears: _'He's bitten at least one cock to the point of needing reattachment'_ , I think I have half an idea.

"Let's see how far he's come under your 'training'." Axel wears a nasty grin. _Oh god, no._ Jun glances up at me; I wonder if he can see that I'm sweating bullets. One wrong move and _I'll_ be the one on my knees! Instead, I witness a goddamn miracle: Jun does what he's told.

It's gotta be hard to look classy while sucking dick, but Jun has it down to a science. He's even got the good manners to cup Axel's sack, fondling it gingerly. When Axel moves into his throat, testing him, Jun doesn't miss a beat. But there's a blank look in his eyes.

"That's the trouble with the proud ones..." Axel mentions offhandedly. Digging a hand into his hair, Axel demands more. "You have to take away everything they have, and replace it with cock." He abuses Jun's throat; I see him swallow his gag reflex. "You have to _humiliate_ them." Seizing him by the jaw, Axel abruptly pulls out to vigorously jerk himself to the finish line. He spews over Jun's expressionless face. The violet-haired engineer accepts the indignity without the slightest complaint and lowers his head, obedient. A drop of cum falls from the tip of his nose. It brings a grin to Axel's lips. "And then convince them that they don't deserve any better." His words make my skin crawl. What was that, an excerpt from his new self-help book: 'Sexual Abuse for Dummies'?

"But it looks like you already know that..." Axel sounds... _Impressed?_ "That's some fine work." Suddenly, I know what that expression was: that blankness. That was what a broken-in slave looks like. "You!" he speaks to Jun in harsher tones, "Fix whatever's broken or you'll be... _Presenting_ at our next meeting."

"Yes, sir, right away, sir." Jun returns to the control panel. As soon as the door closes and we're alone again, I reach out towards him.

"Jun-"

"Go." He stops me in my tracks. " _Please_ go..." I let out my breath in a sigh and slip out the door, watching him wrap his arms around himself, shaking.

 

###

 

 _'We're all prisoners.'_ I know someone who has _definitely_ been to prison. The sound of machinery, weights clanging together and grunts form the background score of the gym. That's nothing compared the smell: damn it is _ripe_ in here. I cut between sweaty bodies to find Flaere. Clad only in a pair of athletic shorts, he shows a punching bag who's boss. Sweat glistens from his muscular contours as he bobs back and forth like a boxer, his orange ponytail tracing a trail of fire in his wake. Glimpses of his intricate tattoo flash between liquid movements.

"Rayce, you're here!" I shake my head, snapping out of it. Flaere paused at some point of time (probably long before I stopped ogling him...) to acknowledge my arrival. He falls easily into a cartwheel and springs up in front of me, spreading his arms. "Ta-da!" he laughs nervously. "Y-You... Did come to see me, right?"

"I did." But that's all I say. I let him sweat it out a bit.

"Oh!" He digs into his back pocket and presents me with the silver revolver. "I've been meaning to give this back to you... It's yours, I mean, even though you stole it- Not that I'm judging you." He adds quickly.

"Thanks..." I narrow my eyes at him, but I accept it.

"Are you mad at me?" I can't keep it up, letting out my breath between my lips.

"I'm not _mad_ , Flaere..." _But you DEFINITELY are._ I figure that joke is probably in poor taste...

"Thank you!" He can't even contain himself, excitable like a puppy as he pops up on his toes to toss his arms around my neck and kiss me. His tongue plumbs my mouth, then he breaks off to plant a frantic kiss on my cheek, my neck, then back to my lips, pressing so hard that he might be bruising me! Flaere breaks off, panting. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." he whispers, breathless.

"Yeah, well, the important thing is no one got hurt... And I got _laid._ " I grin at his surprised expression. Hey, he almost killed someone, I deserve to get to rub it in a little bit, right?

"Oh..." He looks away. "Was it... Nice?"

"Fuck yeah, I've never had pussy before-"

"I didn't mean it like that," Flaere interrupts me, "I meant... Were _you_ nice? To him?" Well that's actually kind of sweet. I soften my tone.

"Yeah... Yeah, I was."

"That's good." He laughs, relieved, and I join in.

"Or you would have had to kill me, huh?" I joke, elbowing him in the arm.

"Yeah," He shakes his head with laughter but I choke on mine. I clear my throat awkwardly and change the subject,

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something." I slide my arms around his waist, lulling him into my embrace.

"Anything." He bats his lashes at me.

"You killed someone." That blink is more of the taken-aback kind.

"That's not a question..." he says at length.

"Hear me out. You killed a guy." I look him up and down and correct myself, "Probably more than one. And then you went to prison."

"Okaaaayyy..." Flaere follows along uneasily.

"So how did you go from _prison_ to _here?_ "

"R-Rayce, no-" He ducks out of my grip, already walking away.

"Flaere, wait, I'm trying to help!" I just grab - wrap my fingers tight around his wrist. I regret it when he whips back around like a tornado, and I see the storm in his eyes, too close for comfort.

"Our past is not for sale, Gunner," says Hunter coldly, "We all have things we'd rather not talk about. I would think you could understand that, considering..." It's his turn to hold my wrist. He turns it over to glance down at the pale mark on the underside, amused. "Next time, cut lengthwise." He traces a line up along my arm to the inside of my elbow. "Rookie mistake." I stare at him in horror, then hastily pull back.

"That was a long time ago," I hiss.

"Was it? You have eyes that crave the abyss."

"And how would you know that?" At that, he chuckles.

"Well, I own a mirror, don't I?" Slow realization dawns on me.

"So why are you still here, then?" I ask carefully.

"Flaere," he sighs heavily. Suddenly, my chin is caught in his grip. "He likes candy, Gunner. Worthless, sugary crap. Empty calories..." He isn't... Talking about candy, is he? I'm hypnotized by his tone, unable to tear myself away. "It's so, so bad for him... But it makes him feel _sooo_ good." Hunter moves like he's going to kiss me, but stops an inch short. I think I stopped breathing. I almost want to close the distance between us, but I don't dare move under Hunter's intense gaze. He's just... _Watching._ Waiting to see what I do next. Finally, he lets go. "You have ten seconds." I don't know what that means until he grabs my collar. I know it's Flaere again, from the way he looks at me, bug-eyed.

"The cop!" he blurts out, "The dirty cop... He knows. He knows everything."

"What?"

"The _cop_. D-D-Damon Black."

 

###

 

I must have had a heart attack and gone to hell - either that, or I found Damon's personal sex dungeon. It's kind of hard to look around, and _really_ hard not to - and honestly, I need to stop saying the word _hard_ around here! Dungeon masters in studded leather lead poor unfortunate souls around by leads or chains while screams of the damned echo in my ears. One sound stands out: the jingling of spurs. The dungeon master wearing the boots carries a branding iron. Red hot, but it sends a chill down my spine. What did anyone ever do to end up in a place like this?

I mean, don't get me wrong, S&M is fucking fun but Damon has a way of taking _everything_ too far. You're telling me this guy's a _cop?_ Speak of the devil... I find Damon at the very end of the room, seated like a king - or more like a spoiled prince of Hell draped across the armrests of his plush recliner throne. But it's the slave standing next to him that I'm interested in.

Matteo's tan body is imprisoned in a chainmail bikini. His bracelets and anklets are just expensive shackles: he's a concubine for the king. I'd only need to look into his glassy, unfocused blue eyes to know that. Then they find me and sharpen.

"Rayce-" He starts forward. I hear the complaint of a chain attached to his collar as Damon tugs him back into place. He smiles broadly at me.

"Heeeeyyy, if it isn't the guy everyone's talking about!"

"They are?"

"Of course! You tamed Pencil Sharpener!" Oh. _That_.

"Please don't call him that." I make a face.

"It's a compliment, Gunner. Babe, pour our guest a beer. We're celebrating!" He directs Matteo. I watch him pop a bottle and pour out two tall glasses of pale beer. Damon gives the chain just enough slack for him to walk over and offer me one. Words push at my lips but I know I can't say any of them with Damon here. Our eyes meet briefly over the rim of a glass. I take it wordlessly.

Matteo lowers the tray enough for Damon to take the other without having to exert himself. Damon raises the glass, grinning.

"Mazel tov!" And takes a big swig. I try to do the same but my throat locks up in defense against the most disgusting, cheap lager I have ever had in my life! I look over to see if he's just fucking with me, but no, he's really drinking this piss. And it's not because he can't afford better... I choke down a mouthful.

"Damon, I need your help." And that's just as hard to choke out! He gestures at his sick paradise.

"It's called outsourcing! Try it sometime."

"Not with... _That_."

"It's called Viagra! Try it someti-"

" _No!_ " God, he's so infuriating! "I meant the slave program! You funneled ex-cons into the army." He looks at me, amused, over the foam in his glass.

"So you actually put two and two together. Was it Jun who finally spilled? Or Flaere?" He sits forward in his seat. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Gunner... You might be royalty out here in Fade, but back home in Clear? That was me. Dear old dad is Police Commissioner Eli Schwartz." My jaw just drops.

"You're Commissioner Schwartz's son? _The_ Commissioner Schwartz?"

"Well I updated the family name a little bit." He shrugs. "But that's me. Look, your brother is the one who asked me for people no one would miss, no one would care about; I just delivered. Think of me as a..." He thinks about it for a bit. "A _reaper._ I collected the worst of the worst: criminals at the end of their ropes, life sentences, _death_ sentences, and I brought them here for your program. Not only is no one going to go around asking for them, but they fucking deserve this too! It's a win-win!" He laughs sadistically.

"Why did you do it?"

"Money, Gunner. For the money. No refunds, by the way." Damon winks at me. There's just one thing that's been bothering me, like the soft but annoying drone of a housefly somewhere nearby.

"So Matteo..." I glance at him.

"A prostitute," Damon swats my fly ruthlessly and now I actually miss it. I kinda knew, so how come it feels like a punch in the gut? I expect Matteo to look away, or lower his head or something, anything to show that he... _Regrets_ it? But he just stares. His feather earring pirouettes on an invisible gust. Damon tugs on his chain and Matteo moves like clockwork, climbing obediently into his king's lap. I see Damon's hand sliding down Matteo's side, touching his bare skin and it makes me irrationally angry.

"He's a whore and I'm a monster. But we _get_ each other. That's how it's always been," Damon explains.  

"He's in love with me." I don't even know why I bother saying it, especially when he bursts out laughing.

"No, you're a sex toy he picked out to keep things interesting. Take my advice. You don't want him anyway, Gunner, he's a cheater." Damon locks down on Matteo's ring finger. Their engagement ring glints brightly as Damon bends the digit backward toward his wrist over the back of his hand.

"No," Matteo begs. Damon goes on as if he hasn't spoken.

"And he loves the punishment for it." I realize too late.

"Stop it!" I start forward - too late. A sickening crack of bone and an ear-piercing shriek. My heart pounds in my chest while Matteo buries his face in Damon's chest, sobbing. Damon's fingers snake between Matteo's to hold his hand. It would almost look sweet until you notice the broken finger hiding in their embrace. It's getting more and more obvious all the time, swelling, turning purplish blue while everyone stands around doing _nothing_ , trapping the engagement ring in place.

I feel nauseated.

"It's my turn to ask questions!" Damon surprises me. He looks me dead in the eye. "I was loyal to your brother, I got him what he asked. I kept it all quiet, hell I even joined him to torture these miserable fucks for the rest of their pathetic existences... So what is the end game here?" He has to be joking. But the longer I stare at his stone-cold sober face, I realize he isn't.

"You... You don't know? I was going to ask _you_ that!"

"You mean you're not here to _tell me that?_ You're a Gunner; how do you not know?" So it all comes full circle. Back to Cisco. Back to _me._ For a second, I might as well be looking in a mirror. _He's just as fucking clueless as I am._ Damon cycles through the emotions: confusion, disbelief, anger - _fear?_ \- but no, he decides on anger.

"Get out!" he yells at me, "Get the _fuck_ out!" _Gladly._ I barely even register the depravity around me as I retrace my steps. I'm already numb to it. The only thing I can hear - the only thing I can _feel_ \- is Matteo crying: a small, broken sound but it only gets louder the further I get until I clap my hands down over my ears. It doesn't help. It's _inside._

 

###

 

"You'd tell me, right?" I ask absentmindedly.

"Hm?" The lazy noise comes from the tousled blonde head lying on my chest. I can't resist petting it.

"If you were a psychopath criminal." Finn looks up at me with those brilliant green eyes.

"You say really strange things sometimes, Rayce." His button nose crinkles. "Hey, do you smell something burning?" Then he gasps, "The pie!" Finn is off in a flash, leaving me alone on the bench.

"Shoot," his silly not-cursing as the racks in the oven scrape. Stretching languidly, I get up and join him at the counter, where he's just set down the charred corpse of what used to be apple pie. Heck, I'd still try to eat it if he'd let me, but he's too proud of his baked treats to serve a substandard one... His pink oven mitt bounces off my bare chest. "You distracted me! With your big fishstick..."

"Well how can I help it that you have such a cute donut hole?" Finn doubles over laughing as I tickle him. He's completely exposed to my tickle attack, wearing only a pastel pink apron criss-crossed over his back and knotted in a bow over his tush. I pick him up; he's so light and sweet, like an airy cream puff.

"Stooooop," he giggles. I respond by layering his neck with kisses. Sometimes he feels like the only good thing in this place... Most days he _is._

"Let's be official," I say abruptly.

"Huh?"

"You know, a couple. You'll be my cute boyfriend." I smooch his neck again.

"Rayce..." Finn slips out of my arms. "I already have a boyfriend."

"So dump him." I grin. I mean, come on. I'm the kind of guy you dump people to be with, even though you know I'm totally gonna do the same thing to you in a week!

"You... You never say you love me," he says uncertainly. Ugh, there's that word again, ruining everyone's lives.

"Who caaaares," I groan.

" _I_ do!"

"Come on, it's like... I'm like... I'm like Jesus."

"Jesus." He repeats.

"Yeah, he never says he loves you either but you love him anyway."

"Rayce, you're not _Jesus._ "

"Baby, I'll show you a second coming." I wink at him sleazily. Finn lets out a heavy sigh.

"Let's just get lunch at the cafeteria, okay?" He's already getting dressed. Aaaaand it's starting to sink in that I got rejected. By Finn. Well there's a whole new low I never saw coming...

 

"They were out of lime jello." Finn stares sadly down at his tray as if he left a piece of his heart in a jello cup.

"What, really?" I make a weak attempt at sounding surprised. I pick a seat at an empty table and Finn is about to sit next to me when a hand latches down on his head.

"Away, lesser sub." Jun twists him away and takes his place.

"Hey!" Finn complains. All I can do is balk at the gorgeous engineer next to me. He actually smiles at me.

"Well don't you look dashing today?" Me and Finn - who settled for the seat on the other side of me - exchange surprised glances. "Oh, let me get that for you." Jun intercepts my fork and knife and cuts a painstakingly precise cube from the lasagne on my tray, with the perfect ratio of pasta to cheese to sauce. He feeds it to me. I can feel the blush on my face as I chew slowly and swallow. I whisper by his ear.

"Are you having a stroke? Should I call someone?" Jun titters behind a hand - a fake rich person brunch laugh - and swats me with the other.

"Oh Rayce, you're so funny." Then he shoots me a heavy-lidded look, tossing his purple hair like he's trying to tempt with it. _Of course_ it's working! "We'd make a great team. Pick me." Taken aback, my face rages with heat.

"I, umm... Uh..." I swallow hard. Maybe _I'm_ the one having the stroke.

Further evidenced when Sylphos sits down across from us. Jun takes one look at him and wraps both arms around one of mine possessively, hissing,

"Back off, superfreak! I saw him first!"

"Ha! You?" The Marine lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. "He's going to pick me because he wants someone who's a good shot, not stuck up ramen boy." Jun gasps melodramatically.

"How _dare_ you!"

"Oh I'm sorry, do you prefer _pencil sharpener?_ " Sylphos' voice drips with sarcasm. Jun turns up his nose, haughty. Capturing my chin with only a fingertip, he turns my face back to him, simpering. "Anyone can fire a gun, he wants someone with a brain." Jun gives Sylphos the side eye. "And someone who uses conditioner. Isn't that right, Gunner?" _Why not both?_

But wait! There's more! I see Flaere sprinting towards us, vaulting himself over two more in his way. He screeches to a stop and slams his hands down on the table.

"Am I too late? Is it too late to pick me?" The perky martial artist bobs up and down rapidly on the tips of his toes, biting his lip impatiently. "Hunter wants you to pick _us_ , but he'll never say it out loud," Flaere gushes, "You're picking us, right?"

"He's picking _me_ . He needs one stable partner, not two crazy ones..." Jun tugs sharply on my arm. Sylphos doesn't even say a word but the corner of his lips tweak. He crosses his arms and uncrosses a leg, setting them both apart and immediately reminding me of what's between them. It is _sooooo_ hot in here all of a sudden... Finn clutches his cross, just as bewildered as I am. Well hey, if this is god's way of making it up to me for Finn's rejection, then call me a believer!

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm distracted by a disturbance rippling through the cafeteria. Are you kidding me right now?

"What day is it today?" I demand.

"Is it... Is it Friday?" Finn squints at the group.

Jun scoffs. "It's _Tuesday._ " Tuesday? Well, that's a nice change of pace...

"Goooood afternoon, boys!" Snow catwalks through a corridor of admirers. He's dressed to impress in his scandalously short nurse outfit, low cut to put aaaall the fake goodies on display. His red pumps clop against the tile, putting a cheerful bounce to his corkscrew pigtails.

"Dr. Coolidge, I bought you a latte!" A soldier offers him a white cup.

"Aww, you are too sweet." Snow accepts it and pinches his cheek, tugging on it playfully.

"And I got you a muffin!" Others group around him, clamoring for attention from the pretty doctor.

" _'I got you a muffin, Dr. Coolidge!'_ " Jun mimics in a mocking, high-pitched voice, irritably blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. "He's not even that cute."

"And all his parts are fake," Sylphos mutters a vindictive agreement.

"He's always so... _Perky_ ," Flaere spits it like a curse word.

"Wow, guys," I laugh, "A little catty, don't you think?"

"No," they all say at once. So they actually can agree on something...

"It's just the way everyone falls all over him, it's so stupid," I don't quite hear the tail end of Jun's complaint because I'm already speeding towards the teen doctor.

"Dr. Coolidge, come sit with us!" Snow brightens up at the sight of me.

"Gunner! Just the man I wanted to see." He places his hand in mine, tossing out some advice to his disappointed fans as he goes. "Don't forget to take your vitamins, everyone!"

The others at the table glare as I seat Snow at it, shunting Finn another seat over in the process.

"Can I get you anything? Are you comfortable?" I start massaging his shoulders just to give myself an excuse to touch him!

"Very." Snow leans back with his eyes closed, moaning in pleasure. "You have good hands..."

"I can't believe you're picking him!" Jun cries.

"Guys, guys, no one's playing favorites here..." I slide into the seat between them. "If it were up to me, I'd just pick _all_ of you..."

"Now that's an idea," Sylphos says. I blink incredulously.

"Really? You guys are into it?" Excited, I hook one arm around Jun, the other around Snow and pull them both in close.

"Of course we are..." Jun draws a seductive circle on my chest while Snow giggles behind his hand. I feel luckier than a goddamn pimp!

"Somebody pinch me!"

"So what's the plan?" Flaere asks.

"Well first I'm thinking: _massive orgy_. And then if there's time..." The smile on Jun's face fades slowly.

"Oh god, he doesn't know." Then he looks at my chest, appalled, as if he's just realized what he's doing. "Ew, ew, ew, oh my god!" He pushes away from me frantically. "You're _disgusting!_ "

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Of course he doesn't know. He's fucking clueless." Sylphos groans.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?!" I demand. My radio crackles at that very moment. Cisco's voice trickles through it like ice cold water.

 _"I have good news, Sergeant Gunner. You were randomly selected to lead a special mission in the Forests of Decay."_ Randomly selected, my ass... And as usual, I'm the last to know. _"Of course, you're free to choose teammates to accompany you. I'm sure you have a whole harem's worth."_ _  
_ "Not a harem..." Sylphos mutters under his breath.

_"I'll have someone patch over the details."_

"Thanks," I say dryly. I've almost shoved my radio away out of sight when it crackles again.

 _"Rayce."_ Silence on both ends for an abnormally long amount of time. I'm starting to think I misheard when, _"Be careful."_ The radio cuts out.

It takes me a moment to remember where I am; I lift my gaze to the others around the table staring at me. Jun says at last,

"I thought your brother actually _liked_ you." I get it now: they wanted to get picked for this dumb mission, not a super hot harem and 24 hour sex parties... I should've known. It's never the harem and sex parties.  

"Right..." I look around at my har- err, _team_. Well half of them hate me and all of them hate each other. They're good at what they do, not that that's going to matter since this is probably a suicide mission... At least they're hot! Sexy catfights, anyone?

"I for one, think we should start with a full sexual health evaluation!" Snow abruptly unloads a pile of sample containers onto the table.

"Where were you even keeping those?" Jun warily follows a plastic cup with his eyes as it rolls past.

"You probably need two." The doctor eagerly slides two cups over to Sylphos. Snow is obviously interested in the scientific oddity as he turns up the sex appeal, leaning over the table with his fake tits all pushed together. "Of course, if you need any help, I'd be happy to provide it..." Sylphos just glares at the crossdressing doctor, unamused.

"Actually, I only need one." He places his pistol on the table. "Because I never miss. And if you ever ask me again, you won't be needing _anything_ anymore _._ " Snow's purple eyes widen; he slides quietly back into his seat. I let out my breath in a sigh. Yep. This is gonna be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty sure that puts JunXRayce in the running for unhealthiest pairing in the book - which is saying something.


	13. American Cheese

"What are you doing here? How did you-" Breathless questions spill over each other, quickly silenced under a thin finger-

"Ssshhh!" Matteo's blue eyes sparkle with the thrill of being somewhere he's not supposed to be. He smiles through the chaste kiss I can't help but press against his lips. It isn't good enough for him as he grabs me by the front of the shirt and shoves me up against the door to my room. I spare a thought for Finn asleep inside but it flies out an ear when Matteo captures my lips again. His tongue makes an incursion, lapping mine playfully.

My hands already know what to do as they explore my partner's body. He isn't wearing his slave gear but he's still every bit as sinful in a slouchy tank top and cargos. I take back every mean thing I ever said about his pants! I grip his ass meaningfully, making him jump and deepen the kiss in response. I dart eagerly to the fastenings - too slow - he steps out of range. I flash him a desperate look. Matteo giggles behind his hand.

"You pig! You'd do it in the hall?"

"You'd do it in the shower." I pout.

"I love how you just assume that's the reason I'm here."

"Oh, so, you didn't just pin me to a door with your lips?"

"It's all about sex with you, isn't it? Don't you ever just hold hands and snuggle? Eat pizza and watch TV and stuff?" Matteo clasps his hands together and sighs romantically, daydreaming all about it.

"Psh, I've held hands before..." I bubble air between my lips.

"Oh yeah, with who?"

"With... _Jun_ , that's who." Matteo bursts out laughing. I can't hold my poker face and join in helplessly.

"If you're going to lie, at least _try_ to be convincing..." He clears his throat. "Anyway. I heard about your mission. The Forests of Decay are really dangerous and so are your enemies. Take plenty of ammo. And another thing..." I nod my way through his nagging. _Just ask me already._ I realize he's stopped talking but I'm still nodding. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" He rolls his eyes at my sheepish grin. "You'll never change... Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Promise," I say solemnly. Matteo looks unconvinced.

"Yeah, no, I don't believe you." He reaches into his pocket and produces a tiny red drawstring pouch on a gold thread. It swings like a pendulum in front of my face.

"What is it?" He circumvents my expectant hand to tie it around me like a necklace.

"It's a good luck charm," he explains. Shit, he's kidding me, right? The thought must be apparent on my face because he says indignantly, "Hey, maybe you don't believe in stuff like this, but this charm will bring you home alive."

"Want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself." I seize both his hands and see that his broken finger has been bandaged up - _literally_ putting a bandaid on the problem. "Come with us," I plead.

"You know Damon would never let me," he says.

"Who cares?"

"Oh sure, it's all Disney princesses, singing to birds and frolicking in the forest until we get back..."

"Then we won't come back! Let's just run away together!" Yes, I do hear myself, and _no_ , I don't care how ridiculous I sound!

"What?" Matteo chuckles.

"Yeah! We'll just run away to the forest and live off leftover tuna casserole and zucchini bread."

"I _hate_ zucchini bread." He looks at me intensely. "Stop trying to put vegetables in my bread."

"And we can have forest babies!"

"Forest babies?"

"Wyatt and Maverick." I grin.

"We are _not_ naming our forest baby _Maverick_ , that poor kid..." He laughs, shaking his head.

"What? Rick for short." I just want to make him smile, the only way I know how. But I can't even have that. His smile fades as he looks sadly down at our inter-linked hands. He turns his to rest them face-up up on mine, as if he's reading our future in the lines on his palms.

"We shouldn't see each other anymore." Is his prediction. Or maybe it's a sentencing.

"Is this about Damon? Because I can _handle_ Damon, you just say the word..."

"See, this is exactly why," he insists, "I don't want you two to get hurt..." Oh trust me, that is _not_ how that would go down...

"Then we'll figure something else out." I'm starting to get frustrated. "Damon might be royalty in Clear, but this is Fade. My brother is the _commander in chief_ of the army. My father was a goddamn superhero!" Doesn't that count for something? I think it counts for _everything._ Matteo inhales sharply when I grab his wrists and push him back against the wall. "I'm Rayce fucking Gunner; I can do whatever I want. And that includes _you._ " I only realize what I'm doing when a tiny whimper forms in his throat. Strangling his wrists like a jealous python. I let go abruptly, watching color return to the white marks I left behind. _Fuck_ , I scold myself internally. _That was a GREAT way to show him you're nothing like his abusive fiance, Rayce!_

But instead of being horrified like - oh, I dunno, _a normal person?_ \- Matteo looks fascinated with the reaction he got. His lips curl almost imperceptibly. Is he... Smiling? _'You're a sex toy he picked out to keep things interesting.'_

"Come back safely," Matteo says before he twists on the ball of his foot and returns the way he came.

 

###

 

"And that's where I got it." The red pouch dangles over my head from Jun's finger. Sylphos exchanges glances with him.

"Do you buy that?"

" _Hard_ -ly." Jun smirks at his own joke, putting uncomfortable pressure on my straining cock with his other hand. Sylphos bursts out laughing, inappropriately loud. He claps a hand over his mouth to sieve it into giggles.

"You're funny." He takes a long swig of the kind of alcohol that he really shouldn't be drinking straight from the bottle. "This... This stuff is really good. Why don't I do this more often?"  

"Then you'll like this even more..." Jun smiles coyly as he unfolds a square of paper and taps a bright blue powder into the bottle. On the streets of Clear, aether blue is your only friend. For a price. "Drink up." Jun places a finger on the bottom of the bottle, gently tipping it back into the Marine's mouth. Sylphos literally just watched Jun drug his drink and chugs it anyway. Hey, I'd love to be the dad friend who reminds him he's had enough and then drives him safely home, but let's be honest: that would fall through halfway and end with him calling me daddy in the backseat!

And to think I was worried these guys wouldn't get along. Those two are about to get real familiar _real_ fast. Flaere and Finn are getting acquainted in a much healthier way as they dance together by the campfire. The music is something airheaded and poppy, but Flaere manages to turns it into the sexiest samba in the world. He moves like the kind of guy I'd push across an entire dancefloor just to dance with! _Hot_ , the flames flicker behind him like backup dancers. He even tosses a bit of ballet in there - a pirouette on the tip of his toe, then he points at Finn. It takes the blonde a moment to figure out that was his cue, and even then, all he can do is bob adorably to the beat. Boy can't dance. Flaere laughs good-naturedly. He falls forward on his palms, walking on his hands to where Finn is.

"So cool!" Finn marvels.

"Care to dance?" Flaere folds a leg at the knee. Finn shakes it by the toe like he's shaking hands with a prince, giggling uncontrollably. Even upside-down, Flaere is a better dancer than Finn, pulling off ballroom-grade footwork with his hands.   

A moan of frustration escapes me. Thrusting back at Jun's hand just hurts.

"Ease up!" I grunt. "I need that to stick up your ass!" He raises an eyebrow.

"You're very loud for a naked man tied to the floor."

"Yeah, and you're too smart to be torching the jello supply."

Finn looks over and gasps, "Heathen!"

Oh right, the mission. We've made no progress on it, and that's embarrassing because it doesn't even seem hard: Find and destroy naiads. Some kind of water nymph thing? But naiads - if they even exist, which is up for debate at this point - are really, _really_ good at hiding. Then the boredom set in and the conversation spiralled from strategy to the weather to the chemical composition of Snow's fakey tits. Finally, they discovered Jun's liquor stash and the rest is history. The only part of any of this that actually surprises me is how long it took to get to the naked part!

All I can do is strain against the ropes that have me splayed out on the ground between four stakes like fucking Gulliver on his travels if the tiny people were intent on giving him blue balls.

"That must be where he hides his weed." Flaere springs upright, grabbing his beer in the same swoop. He sits down cross-legged next to me and takes a swig. Oh great, it's time to play 'what mystical garbage did Matteo stick Rayce with?'

"Spare change?" Finn wonders aloud. Alcohol made his face cute and ruddy-cheeked.

"Viagra." Sylphos smirks.

"I'll do you one better," Jun says as he loosens the ties. Doesn't opening the charm violate the luckiness of it? Not that I actually believe in that stuff or anything... In spite of myself, I'm kinda curious too. They fall silent.

"Well?" I crane my neck to look.

"Co...caine?" Flaere intones. Jun sticks a finger in it, then places it experimentally on his tongue.

"Salt," he announces to the groaning of the others. Well, if pouring table salt in a bag and tying it around my neck helps Matteo sleep at night...

"Salt... fetish?" Sylphos grapples with the idea in his head.

"Wait, there's something else." Jun excavates a tiny but brightly-colored wooden figurine from inside. The figurine is carved into the shape of a wolf down to the tiny, sharp fang details. On its back is a pair of eagle wings.  

"Dafuq is that?" Sylphos asks flatly.

"An alebrije. A protective totem in some cultures." Jun looks exasperated with all the blank stares he's getting. "Alebrijes? Pedro Linares? Come on! _Philistines._ I am surrounded by philistines." Jun curtly cinches the drawstring pouch closed again.

"It means Rayce was telling the truth," he distills that into something we might plausibly give a fuck about.

"There, see? Would I ever lie to you guys?" I smile up at them winningly. "Now how about untying me?" They just laugh at me.

"What? That's quitter talk!" Flaere winks. Jun pats the side of my face mockingly.

"Guess what, Gunner, you don't get to choose when I fuck you, or where, or _how_."

"But don't worry, you're working with a professional." Sylphos grins none too pleasantly.

"Okay real cute, guys; stealing my lines. Now would you- what are you- No, wait!"

The three of them gather around my dangly bits but I quickly realize that's not what they're after. Sylphos whistles.

"Fuuuuck, that's a virgin if I ever saw one." My face goes hot at once.

"You've never seen one," Jun comments dryly. "Snow, you're an expert. Care to weigh in?" The team medic doesn't even bother looking up from his holo reader. I brought the teen along to keep up morale (okay, maybe just _my_ morale) with his whole cross-dressing schtick - oh, and, because he's a doctor I guess... But Snow ditched his nurse outfit for a Batman t-shirt and relaxed jeans. He sits nestled comfortably against a deep purple tree trunk as he turns a page.

"He's a virgin." Snow makes a diagnosis.

"You didn't even look."

"Do I have to?" He chuckles lightly. The fuck is that supposed to mean?!

Jun runs a languid finger around my rim. The shudder that runs down my spine makes him chuckle.

"Sensitive, are we?"

"Who gets to pop his cherry?" Flaere asks excitedly.

Jun scoffs, "That's easy. I got the worst of it; it's only fair that I get to do it."

"No way." Sylphos snorts drunkenly. "I should get his V-card because he knocked me up." Flaere's eyebrows nearly fly off his forehead.

"He what?" Damage control! _Damage control!_

"No! _Noooooo_ ," My voice is unusually high. "No I did not do that, because you can't get pregnant, remember, Sylphos?"

"Oh yeah." Sylphos glares into the bottle like it just cut him off on the freeway while flipping him the bird.

Jun smiles victoriously. "It's settled then, I get to go first." They're auctioning off my ass!

"Don't I get a say in this?" I speak up.

"Did _we_ ever get a say?"

"I think he should pick," argues Flaere.

"And why's that?"

Flaere digs at the dirt with a twig, mumbling, "Because he might pick me..."

"Well, if you must know," I interrupt with a melodramatic sigh, "I was saving myself."

"For me?" Flaere drops it to clap his hands together enthusiastically.

"For Matteo!" I blurt out the first name that pops into my head. "Obviously. He was supposed to be my first man." Jun narrows his eyes.

"He's not here, how _convenient_. Forget it, I'm horny. Who needs his ass anyway?"  

I lose whatever microscopic say I had in the matter when the four of them descend on me like vultures. Sylphos positions his pussy over my face.

"You know what to do with that, right?" He grins down at me. Maybe they'll set me free on good behavior if I cooperate... I meet his snatch with my tongue, licking obediently. I hear his pleasured sigh, "He knows how to eat..." I tease my tongue into his slit in response, just to hear him yelp. Meanwhile, my cock hasn't been ignored as a hand runs up and down the length. Say what you want about Finn, but he's a _saint_ in my eyes... His thin fingers dart over the shaft, almost ticklish. Another hand wraps warmly around my sack, carefully juggling it as his pumps quicken in pace.

Meanwhile, Jun and Sylphos decide to put on a show just to piss me off! Hands all over each other, cream spills into exotic mocha as they share a steamy make out session over my head. Alcohol makes Sylphos a much more generous lover as he reaches into Jun's lap to jerk him off. The violet-haired engineer's manicured nails rake sensually over his back. I've had them separately but watching this is... My cock throbs with need in Finn's grasp but all I can do is helplessly ply my tongue into the dripping hole that was offered to me.

Jun and Sylphos break off, breathing hard. Sylphos gets off my face - _I can breathe!_ As I gasp for air, I watch him turn around, plant his knees on either side of my torso and his hands by my head to present himself to his partner. The engineer takes his hips, sawing between his slick cheeks. Jun is spoiled for choice with Sylphos, but when he looks down at his options, he isn't even that excited at the prospect of pussy.

"Have you tried anal?" he asks, amused. Sylphos blushes and looks over his shoulder.

"Of course I have."  

"Come on Jun, you know he doesn't try much of anything," I tease.

"Shut up." His drunkenness takes the edge off the words. Jun drips lube into his ass cleavage. Some of it spills onto my midsection. Then Jun inserts the tip of the tube and squeezes lubricant inside, drawing a surprised gasp out of Sylphos. He bites his lip.

Finn - thank God for that man - takes pity on me when he gives my antsy cock something to do. He sinks slowly, purposefully onto it and bottoms out with a sigh, just enjoying the feeling as he grinds gently. _Pick it up!_ If it were me, we'd be halfway to heaven by now! Flaere joins him back there, slipping a hand into his curls to get his attention.

"Want me to show you a new move?"

Finn smiles coyly at the second cock presented to him.

"I already know that move." He strokes Flaere to full mast without missing a beat on mine. Once he has the rhythm down, he takes Flaere in his mouth and shuts his eyes beatifically.

"Ow! Ahhh..." Sylphos squirms in an attempt to adjust to Jun. You know, it's easy to forget because he's such a bottom bitch, but Jun's size is nothing to roll your eyes at. Sylphos can't seem to decide if he loves or hates it as Jun nails his ass. Eyes squeezed shut, he pants heavily.

"How's the view up there, Sergeant?" Jun laughs. Okay, now he's just being mean. I can only swallow hard in reply as I stare at Sylphos' heaving body, his bobbing hair. You know when you're on a diet and your roommate comes back with groceries and they're just sitting there on the counter and taunting the fuck outta you and you're just like, 'look, I know your life isn't as fucking depressing as mine, but I could really use your support during these difficult times'? No? Well that's my metaphor and I'm sticking with it.

Sylphos throws me a bone. This time I'm mauled by his more talkative lips. His tongue plunges without fanfare into my mouth, bullying my own into submission. A sudden, ardent moan echoes down my throat from his. Jun hit his sweet spot. Sylphos presses his lips into the side of my neck and bites.

"Sylphos," I gasp. Then he's blazing a trail of hot kisses all the way to my chest. It's only getting better as Finn finally cuts the foreplay and uses my cock for what it's best at: _riding!_ Flaere looks distracted, sizing up the action up front with a hungry glint in his charcoal eyes.  

Sylphos sprawls out on top of me, his head resting next to mine as his hair fans out over my chest in a plush sheet of blue. I turn my head, trapped in his toxic yellow eyes as our hot, heavy breaths mingle in the same space. Then he shuts them again and whimpers softly when Jun bends over him, pinning his wrists roughly to the grass. He pistons straight towards a climax, crying out into the air. Sylphos shudders once before the rest of him collapses too. Wetness on my middle - he leaks Jun's seed on me like I'm a rumpled set of bedsheets. _That's it -!_ I reward Finn with a simmering load of my own.

"Hey!" Flaere peels a complaining Jun off Sylphos and then uses his foot to nudge the Marine over on his back. The alcohol, drugs and natural high of a climax catch up with Sylphos all at once and just floor him. I almost feel bad for the guy as he lolls on the grass, letting out a spacey giggle every now and then. He's helpless when Flaere gets on top.

I squirm in discomfort. Sylphos is _not_ going to like that when he returns to his senses.

"Should we do something?" I exchange glances with Jun.

"You're kidding right? I wouldn't touch that with a _crane._ "

"Wait," Sylphos finally mumbles some remnant of a memory: a boundary. Flaere closes a hand over his mouth and just keeps going like he didn't hear that inconvenient sound. Or maybe it's Hunter, but heeeeeyyy that's none of my business...

"My turn to ride," Jun moves on without a second thought, switching places with Finn. They actually want a round two?

"Good luck with that," I say sarcastically. My cock isn't playing this game, lying limp at my crotch. That's when Jun crawls away and returns with a hypodermic. I squirm against the ropes nervously.

"What's that?" He only pops the plastic cap in response. The thin needle glints silver in the low light through the tree canopy and then he punches it into my shoulder. _Hot!_ My bloodstream carries the questionable drug like fire to who knows where. Oh no wait, I do know where. Looking down in fascinated horror, I see my flag gradually rising to full mast again.

You'd think I'd be happy, getting more ass than I was promised. But even though the equipment's raring to go, I'm still spent! My entire body protests in exhaustion as they swap positions on top of it. I turn to Snow furiously, yelling,

"What the hell did you think was going to happen when you gave them sleeping pills and performance drugs?!" He's an idiot!

"That they were going to drug and rape you. Why, was I wrong?" ...Worse. He's a sadist. You know, I'm starting to see a pattern here. We have a security technician who won't report security threats, a doctor who hands out patient records and sketchy meds like free lollipops, a combat specialist who specializes in beating up people on our own damn side, a sniper whose focus is randomly broken by his tantrum-throwing pussy and _Finn_ who... Who even let that guy into the army in the first place? It's no wonder we're losing the war!  

Jun smirks as he jerks off my harrowed rod with agonizingly slow strokes.

" _There's_ that famous Gunner stamina."

I smile grimly, tugging at the ropes that bind me. "Yeah. Just wait till I get out of these." But I don't. They use me over and over and over again, pumping me full of god knows what's actually in that drug while my body depletes itself to satisfy them... My vision is getting fuzzy.

 

###

 

"I'm hungry." I whined to Cisco who stood beside me, as regal and impressive in his black suit as the son of Draven Gunner should be. A single white rose was pinned to his lapel. He looked a hundred years older than he was. He looked so _tired._

"You can wait until after the service," he deadpanned without looking at me.

"Tch, it's not like the guest of honor has to eat anymore." His brow furrowed minutely.

"That is our _father_."

"Closed casket, who knows?"

"You know the danger of radiation is too high for an open casket."

"That's what they want us to think."

"Be quiet."

"I'm still hungry."

"Wait."

"I can't."

"Ignore it."

"But I can't." At that point, Cisco heaved a heavy sigh, glancing up at the heavens. If he was looking for a sign from Father, he's looking in the wrong direction.

"Then at least stop drinking." He put a firm hand on the bottle I was raising to my lips and lowered it while I shot him a nasty look. I sighed and glared ahead at the blubbering moron at the podium mopping his face with a tissue while he regaled us with military stories about how great our father used to be.

"Jeez, someone call a plumber, we've got a leak," I muttered under my breath.

"Be respectful!" Cisco hushed me sharply.

"We should have invited strippers."

" _Sssssssh!_ "

"Whaaat? They knew him better than most of us!" I grinned. _That_ worked: Cisco let a snort of laughter slip, clapping a hand over his mouth immediately.

The smile on my face faded as my gaze rested on the lead coffin in the ground: locked up and wrapped in a flag. This is where he would have wanted to be buried, not that he ever told us as much. He acted like he was going to live forever. Springy grass blew in the breeze on that cliff overlooking the bay. In the background stretched the rusty red span of the Golden Gate Bridge. Fuck, even with him gone, we couldn't escape that damn bridge. That fucking city.

Father's military buddy was wrapping up, and I mean literally wrapping up the pile of kleenexes he accumulated on the podium. My chest burned.

"I'm going up there," I said abruptly.

"Racye, you can't." Cisco's eyes widened.

"Don't tell me what I can't do; he was my father too." I yanked myself free of his restraining hold and pushed my way to the podium. Someone else was walking up to it ahead of me, head down as he organized note cards. I slapped them right out of his hands.

"Hey!" He dropped to gather them while I took his place at the dais. All eyes were on me for once. I gripped the sides of the podium with both hands; it felt like _power._

"What a beautiful, beautiful day." I grinned none too pleasantly. "I wanna thank you all for coming here today; he would've wanted an audience." And so did I. "I'm sure you think you've heard every story there is to tell about my father: he was a soldier. A leader. A _hero_ . He inspired soooo many of you..." I said almost tauntingly, "But there's one story you haven't heard yet. _Mine._ Do you want to know what he was really like? Who the _real_ Draven Gunner was?" I challenged, looking the slightly confused gathering in the eyes. From drippy throngs of our relatives to a stone-faced regiment of soldiers in full regalia. I saw the mayor. The honest-to-god, motherfucking mayor came to honor _his_ legacy. And _I_ could destroy it. I could destroy it all.

"He was-" That was when my gaze settled on my brother. If he looked a hundred years old before, he looked five now, crumpled in his spot as small as he could make himself. He looked from side to side, terrified of those faces changing. And turning on _him_. The words dried out in my mouth.

"He was... A father," I faltered, clumsy, as the heat in my chest died down. I remembered to add, "A _good_ father. A good uncle. He always told such great stories..." Such great _lies_ . "He... Made Cisco and I the men we are today. And I know my brother will make something of that legacy." Cisco lifted his head at that, meeting my eyes across the crowd. "But above all, Draven Gunner was... _A good man._ " I spat those words out but they still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I'd never felt more defeated in my life as the audience applauded me off stage. My family was telling me how brave I was; how strong. His army friends wanted me to enlist right away. I couldn't imagine a more horrible fate.

There wasn't a dry eye on that cliff during the 21 gun salute, except for the soldiers standing at attention to give him a farewell salute. The mayor smiled proudly and slipped an arm around his picture-perfect trophy husband while Taps played on in the background. I felt like I was watching the epilogue of a cheesy army propaganda movie. It was all so perfect. It was all so _fake_.

 

"Hey." I lifted my head from where it hung between my knees as a paper bag covered in grease stains landed in the grass next to me. It crinkled as I rooted around inside. Cisco sat down beside me, back to back with Father's tombstone. He laid out the burial flag across our laps, careful not to let it touch the ground. It was finally quiet. There was food at the reception: deviled eggs and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Salads with like, kale in them or something. Too rich for my blood. I peeled back the hamburger wrapper and took a grateful bite of warm meat and melted American cheese. It was plasticky and fake, but so, so comforting.

"Thank you," Cisco said, staring at his sandwich.

"Don't thank me for that," I laughed humorlessly. I already hated myself enough. " _That_ was a joke."

"It was just what they needed."

"I thought you of all people would want the truth to be out there." Cisco sighed heavily in response. He held up the carton of fries for me to take a few and stuff them angrily in my mouth.

"Rayce, people don't need a complicated portrait of a complicated man. All they want is a hero to rally behind. A martyr to mourn for."

 _And hope,_ I thought as I glanced at my brother.

"The rest is our burden to bear." So even in his grave, that man would always have a hold on us.

"It's not fair," I said quietly.

"War rarely is." _War._

"When are you leaving?"

"Monday," he replied.

"You have to come back, you hear me? You have to promise you'll come back." A long, long silence prevailed. "Wow, I didn't realize I was asking for so much..." I laughed awkwardly.

"He's _gone._ " Cisco whimpered. I looked at him, surprised. A tear fell into his food.

"Cisco-"

"He's gone... He's gone, he's gone, _he's gone_...." And then the hamburger fell into the grass as he sobbed into his knees drawn to his chest.

"Cisco!" I held him, but I didn't know what else to do.

"He's finally _gone_... So why..." he babbled between great, shuddering breaths, "Why do I feel like this?"

"You said it yourself, he was complicated."

"Make it _stop_." Cisco wrapped his arms tight around me.

"It's over. It's all over now." I just let him cry into my chest until the shaking lessened, stroking his hair.  

In no time, he was on top of his game again, shaking hands with each and every guest and thanking them for coming. You'd never guess he had an emotional breakdown just minutes ago, but pretending everything is fine is one of his secret superpowers. "Rayce, are you ready to go?" Cisco called out between handshakes.

"Gimme a minute." No one noticed me glaring darkly at the grave. Draven Gunner. The man. The legend. The curse. I unzipped my pants and gave him the only tribute he deserved that day.  

 

###

 

I come to who knows how much longer afterwards, still bound to the ground, naked, with an aching head. Heh. So my life is almost back to normal! I think I passed out somewhere in between Jun and Flaere arguing over seconds and Finn being a sweetheart and holding Sylphos' hair back while he heaved into a bush. He... He really can't hold his liquor. The soreness that wracks my body from head to toe is evidence enough of what happened after that.

"Guys?" My voice echoes back hauntingly from the canopies. "Coolidge?" The place where the doctor sat against the tree is empty. They used me like a dildo and didn't even have the courtesy to put their toys away!

Fine then, I'll just free myself. Can't be that hard. It takes me the better part of an hour but I manage to pop out one of the stakes in the ground and untie myself. Once I'm free, I get dressed. The bright red of Matteo's alebrije pouch discarded on the ground catches my eye. Well it can't hurt, right? As I fumble with the string behind my neck, I scan the campsite. All the supplies are still here and the ashes in the fire pit are warm. Food lying around like they got up and left in the middle of dinner. It takes a few minutes for the silence to sink in. And then another few for me to start considering that something has gone horribly wrong.

"Sterling?! Hunter?!" Still nothing but my own voice and the crunching of leaves under my sprinting feet. "Aoki? Coolidge!" Multicolored blurs reform into solid shapes as I slow down, exhausted. "Seraphim..." I come to a stop. I can't describe how terrifying Decay becomes when you're on your own. Then I find a face.

Stumbling back, I have my rifle directed squarely between its eyes. Big, round eyes like galaxy black marbles. Soft lines and petite features make up its fragile countenance, human-esque but tinted ocean blue. Hair as dark as its eyes rests around its shoulders in unkempt waves. _Ah-ha!_

"Naiad!" I accuse, jabbing the gun in its direction. The brush rustles as the creature withdraws rapidly. I tear through the flimsy shelter, crushing slender branches until I corner the naiad hunched by a mottled tree, wrapped around a bundle of leaves and moss. "What did you do to the men in that clearing?!" It shudders. I'm sick and tired of not getting answers! "Answer me or I'll shoot!" It turns.

The tears running down the naiad's face in soundless streams catch me off guard. Its delicate mouth opens in a silent whimper. Naiads are mute, so I recall. Apparently no one told that to the bundle held to its chest when it bursts out crying. My gun arm fall to my side. A baby. Man, I didn't join the army to shoot babies.

Not only have I somehow lost my entire team like a kindergartener with a box of mouthy crayons, but I'm also wandering around Decay with one of the things I was sent here to kill. My future in the military is so bright... I cast the naiad a glance out of the corner of my eyes. A set of gill slits just under its - her - jawline gape open and shut, revealing bright red tissue inside. _Eugh._ I wonder what she's doing here so far away from any source of water.

"Where did they take the men?" I ask quietly. She can't tell me, but maybe she can show me. Terrified eyes meet mine. "You can't hide forever." I stare her down seriously. "So if you wanna save your baby, I'm your best bet." Her black eyes stare back. Starting to consider that she can't even understand me. Then suddenly, she's running. "Hey, wait!"

The naiad leads me to a part of Decay I've never seen before. The Forests are an overload; a system shock of so many different colors and shapes, but this place is a dead monochrome. A plain of grey ash stretches in front of us, stirred into swirling motes by a bone-dry breeze. It looks as if a giant flattened it underfoot, leaving behind an inhospitable wasteland that even the aggressive growth of Decay won't touch. In the middle of it all is a gaping crater.

The dark eye socket of a half-buried skull peeks out at me. _A human skull._ I shudder. There are hundreds of them scattered all over the plain like seashells on the most morbid beach in the world. Tough, woody stems push up through the bleached ribcage of some poor schmuck, swaying in the eerie silence. A scrap of cloth still clings to a rib. It's on the cusp of the point where it would be faded beyond recognition, but I can make out the familiar military camouflage pattern. Heck, I've been wearing it long enough that even my dreams are wallpapered in camo now! _Wait a second._ I freeze in my tracks. The naiad doesn't notice, scrambling over rocks and sliding down dusty inclines that she's intimately familiar with. I've never been here before, but _I know this place too_ . This is where it happened. _Cisco, you bastard-_ I find a sudden wetness on my cheek that I wipe away quickly. This is where the bomb dropped; the bomb that changed everything. He sent me to the place where our father died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you get exactly what you wish for, but you're a little too tied up to enjoy it!
> 
> We're in the home stretch, everyone, thanks for all the support!


	14. A Survivor's Guide to Fallout

We travel all day, but have to stop for the night when it gets too dark and too cold and too _creepy_. Man, this place is really making me feel every minute of the loneliness. I've never seen anywhere as desolate and soul-crushing in my life: from the grey dirt like funeral ashes to the completely featureless expanse except for some rocks just sprinkled in as an afterthought. Oh, and the human bones, don't forget those. I wonder if Cisco sent me here to show me what would eventually happen if we kept fighting. That it would destroy us all.

The silence is deafening, broken only when the wind whistles a death rattle through skeletal trees. At least they catch fire eagerly. That's all this place is good for, anyway: _burning_ . Leaning forward, I stare into the heart of the campfire and poke it with a stick, trying to absorb as much heat and light from it as possible. The bones of the trees crackle as they split. When the ration packet is heated through, I spear it and move it to a flat rock, but before tearing into my dinner, I glance at the hunched-over shape of the naiad - I mean - not that I actually _care_ how she's doing. The fire casts an orange spotlight on her curved back as she digs busily in the dirt on the other side of the campsite.

She doesn't stop, even when I walk over casually to see what she's doing. _Ew_ \- she uncovered a nest of black beetles swarming over each other to get away from the sudden exposure. Holding a sharpened twig between her fingers, she watches, still and laser-focused - lashes out - and skewers a particularly fat beetle like a spear fisher in miniature. The naiad smiles victoriously at her prey's flailing legs.

"Hungry?" I ask. She looks up at the sound of rustling paper as I shake a ration packet over her head. Black eyes wide, the naiad springs for it, but I pull it an inch out of reach of her grasping fingers. My tone is low. "Not so fast. We're not friends, you know." The naiad looks at me distrustfully. "Your people kidnapped my real friends." _Friends -_ did I really say that out loud? I narrow my eyes. "They could be _dead_ for all I know..." And I could be more alone than I thought.

The little naiad woman sets her blue lower lip in a firm line, but the sight of food makes it tremble. She's proud, but she's starving too.

"Hmmm... What can you give me in exchange..." I ponder aloud, reading her like a menu. I know she isn't even the same species but hell, no one would complain; they would just be salivating over anything even remotely female. Her tattered dress reveals an unintentionally generous dose of cleavage. I let my gaze wander over her feminine curves. She's a tempting substitute for a human woman.

I smile at her unpleasantly.

"Take your clothes off." I haven't decided yet whether I actually want to test her waters or just humiliate her. Either way, the naiad's face contorts into an indignant expression. She spins around and drops back into her hunter's perch by the beetle colony. In this game of 'would you rather': eat bugs or sleep with Rayce Gunner? Looks like pride won this round.

"Suit yourself." I shrug before returning to my meal, which only had four legs - the _correct_ number of legs! - before it became one.

 

My eyelids flutter open in the darkness. _Rustling._ It's a beautiful night full of stars; shame there's this blue arm blocking my view as it reaches over me to my backpack. So typical. With a sigh, I grab the naiad's wrist. She jolts, making a futile attempt to break free. I sit up, yanking her forward sharply instead.

"Thief. You know what the Republic army does to thieves like you?" That scares her; she trembles slightly. Did she forget who she was dealing with? "On second thought, why don't I show you?" Then I'm dragging her to the fire. It burned down low but the embers still smoulder devilishly. They can still do damage. The naiad renews her efforts to free herself, but come on, there's no way a tiny creature like her is going to overpower _me!_ I watch her terrified expression, amused as I hold her hand to the cinders, gradually forcing it closer until the heat is almost unbearable against her blue skin. Her fingers curl desperately; she shuts her eyes. I whisper in her ear,

"Or you could give me what I asked for." This time, the naiad nods vigorously. Sick satisfaction goes straight to my head.  

I toss her to the ground with her hands zip-tied over her head.

"That should keep you out of trouble." She has no way of resisting, but complains by squirming uncomfortably. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp as I push her dress up and over her chest, exposing her naked body to the night air. Dusky skin mottled in shades of blue like the waters her kind are supposed to inhabit. As I devour her with my eyes, I realize the dress was covering for the fact that she isn't slim-fit, more like slim- _emaciated_. I lock on her tits. Now there's a treat you don't see everyday...

The naiad's eyes are tightly closed as I eagerly take one of her breasts, squeezing and rolling it in my palm. They're smaller than Snow's fake ones, but they're _real..._ Which means she can feel every touch. She squirms. I go straight for something sensitive and pinch her puffy nipple between my fingers. Something fascinating happens: a white bead forms at the tip. It takes me a moment. _Milk_. I mean, now that I think about it, it does make sense... Junior is tiny enough to still be breastfeeding. Massaging her more doesn't do much. A trickle runs down the soft curve of her tit. Not that I'm suddenly a female lactation specialist (although, I bet I'd have fun trying...), but that doesn't look like enough to feed a baby.

We seem to be thinking the same thing, because she went oddly still, her cheek flat on the ground as she stares at the shape of her baby sound asleep on the other side of the campsite. Save for the episode in the forest, Junior's a quiet kid. I realize now that it's because his hungry cries went unanswered for so long that they turned into energy-conserving silence. He's dying.

 _And so what?_ A cruel voice in my head bullies the softer one. I have to stop pinning my human feelings on this... _Creature_. I put my mouth on her breast instead, sucking softly - not that that produces anything. Her hands land on my back, tied together uselessly but she can still dig her nails in my skin as I roughly maul her nipple with my tongue. From here, I have a closeup view of the freakish gills at her throat gasping for air - water? The insides look dried to a pale pink now instead of a deep, mucus-coated red. The gills suddenly seem to overshadow every humanoid feature she has. I draw back in revulsion.

The naiad's eyes widen at the sight of my rifle. Yeah, I could kill her. But that would be too easy. I move my hands down to the mound between her legs and she seems to make the connection. The naiad kicks out; I catch her by the ankle and pull her open to reveal tightly clamped pussy lips hedged with a crop of dense black fuzz. I am not sticking my fingers in there; what if it has _teeth_ or something? But she definitely doesn't like the alternative when I push in the muzzle of my rifle instead.

It isn't even that big; what a drama queen. Holding her down, I move it in and out -

"You should be glad I haven't pulled the trigger yet," I snarl at her. "Ungrateful bitch." The black gunmetal quickly becomes slick and shiny with her lubrication. The naiad finally settles for burying her face in her hands, shaking with silent sobs.

 _She's a person._ And maybe _I'm_ the creature: a gross caricature of a soldier, shooting and raping anything that moves... Then again, what do you expect from Cisco's gross parody of an army. I slow to a stop, removing the rifle.

 _She's the enemy._ The pendulum swings again and I'm moving on top of her.

_The enemy will take everything you care about, everyone you love, if you give them the chance._

So I won't give her one! It becomes immediately obvious that our parts aren't wholly compatible but hey, anything fits if you try hard enough. Her body fights me every inch of the way. The mute nymph can't even scream to protest her treatment.

"You're tight," I moan. It wasn't really a compliment; just a statement of fact. After the initial euphoria wore off, I'm intensely aware of the silence aside from the sticky sound of our parts mashing together and my own heated breathing. Look, I haven't exactly gone around collecting permission slips from everyone I've fucked, but I'm at least used to the sound of their _screaming_ . It's harder on _me_ somehow that she can't even do that; like the whole damn world is making me sit in silence and think about what I've done. What I'm doing. _Who_ I'm doing.

_They will take advantage of your weaknesses. Mercy is the greatest weakness of all._

It jars me when I realize the truth: that voice in my head is a memory, and it belonged to my father. Oh sure, when _some_ people are exposed to radiation, they get superpowers, but when it happens to me, I turn into my asshole father!

It's too late to stop the transformation. The naiad tenses as I cream her, then falls slack, her soft chest rising and falling gently. I return to my backpack for a moment. She struggles when I dig a hand in her hair.

"I'm trying to help you." But this time, the aggression is defensive. Tilting her head to the side, I tip my canteen, letting the water flow over her gill slits. The naiad looks surprised but grateful as her eyes close. Her gills pulse eagerly to capture as much of the stream as possible. She blinks just in time as I toss her a ration packet and clip her ties. She tears it open, eyes widening as if the plastic packaging is full of gold. "You must be hungry," I say briefly. She looks at me, and then scrambles over to her kid, gently waking him. He's too young for solids. I hear Junior fussing as she tries anyway. She didn't even touch the food for herself - _obviously_ , just to make me feel bad...

With a sigh, I flop back against my rock and I can't even go to sleep now because I'm not a 100% sure she won't try to kill me in my sleep. Instead, I glare at the stars, lying on my arms crossed behind my head. If Father really is up there, I hope he's fucking disappointed in me. Although that would be nothing new.

I wake up hours later in the sudden brightness. So much for that plan! And now I focus on the angry face of the naiad hovering over mine. In her hand is a skewer with a struggling beetle impaled on the end.

"What the-" She jams it in my _mouth_ \- it's moving! _It's moving!_ I bite down instinctively. That was definitely worse! My mouth is awash with a horrible, bitter taste that makes my eyes water. Shoving her off me, I flip over to spit out a mouthful of acidic bug guts. I grasp desperately for my canteen and spend the next fifteen minutes flushing my mouth and clawing gross bits of beetle carapace out from between my teeth.

"What the fuck did you do that for?!" I demand. The naiad sits cross-legged, facing away, breastfeeding Junior as she rocks him gently. She casts me an irritated look over her shoulder and turns her nose up at me. "...Okay, I deserved that," I concede. "Bitch," I mutter under my breath. She reaches over and writes in the grey dirt:

'Daphne'. Her name?

"Rayce. Rayce... Gunner." It takes a little longer to get the last part out. Daphne nods briefly and erases her name, rewriting,

'Undine'.

"Your son?" I ask, scratching the back of my head. "Yeah, that's a good name, not emasculating at all..." She shakes her head but writes no more, hopping up on her bare feet.

"Oh, we're going?" She's already walking; I scrape my things together and sprint to catch up.

We finally approach the crater scooped out in the middle of the clearing. My heart sinks in my chest. This must be where the bomb made impact. Daphne crouches by a dried-out tree at the rim.

"What is -" Her arm shoots out, wrapping around my head to hold me firmly to her chest. My cheek is squished against her breast, instantly flushed red. "Again?" I realize that wasn't her intention when I hear it. Music. Low at first, then it gets louder. It's oddly beautiful, but ravages my mind on its way through. A dangerous wave of lightheadedness hits me, even with her blocking most of it out; I might have actually passed out if she wasn't.

Daphne moves my head to a vantage point where I can see clearly into the crater. Other naiads in tattered grey and brown rags are positioned along the sloped walls of the crater, but they look... _Different._ Blank-faced and rigid. At the bottom of the crater is a pool of water that must be deeper than it looks, because the surface is covered with an iridescent film like an oil spill that reflects the light. A tiny figure marches slowly towards it. The blood in my veins turns to ice. _Finn!_

And then I find the rest of my team kneeling with their hands behind their heads at the naiads' spear points, watching helplessly. Except for... Snow? I don't see him anywhere. Never mind that, I have to focus on saving the rest of them! Something isn't right with that music: I bet it's controlling Finn. And it's coming from the water, getting louder as bubbles start to seethe at the surface, stirring the viscous rainbow sheen into spirals.

A head breaks the surface. Water cascades around the voluptuous curves of what looks like a naiad at first, but her skin is an unhealthy, chalky shade of white and her hair is translucent, almost jelly-like, wriggling on her head like a bowl of noodles that gained sentience. But she isn't the one singing - I trace the music to an azure, tear shaped stone embedded in her chest. A flash of realization:

"Undine?" I glance at my naiad partner. She nods vigorously. "So she's the one who kidnapped my guys... And tried to eat your baby or whatever. Looks like we have a common goal." I grin. She looks nervous. Hey, I get it. To the uninitiated, I must look like a lone human about to take on a freakishly mutated, possibly radioactive water nymph queen with nothing but my rifle and incredibly good looks. To those who know me, I'm still all of those things... But I'm _also_ Rayce Gunner!

A grin crosses the naiad queen's terrifyingly beautiful face as Finn's feet make ripples in the pool. A gelatinous appendage emerges from the water to wrap around him. Ugh, what _is_ she? Clearly there is way more going on underwater than over it. The tentacle drags him into the air, dangling a semi-conscious Finn before the murderous nymph queen by the ankles. He blinks slowly, unable to register the danger when she bares a grin full of delicately pointed teeth.

"What an adorrrrable snack," she croons. A tentacle slips off his shirt as if peeling open a pale stick of string cheese. Oh, fuck no. My ETA on that brilliant plan needs to be - uh - _now._

I spot movement among the rocks on the other side of the crater. Snow! Relief washes over me. He holds a tangle of sticky charges and a detonator. Explosives, that's perfect. With those, we can trigger a landslide. Snow catches sight of me and gestures frantically. He needs a distraction. Well, there are probably better ways to do that, but only one that I can come up with on such short notice.

"Don't eat that, you don't know where it's been." All eyes rest on me as I slide down into the bowl of the crater, kicking up a trail of dust.

"Rayce!" Flaere calls plaintively. "You shouldn't have come here!" I just smile and wink. The naiad queen looks as amused as she is surprised.

"How did you essscape my sssong, morrrtal?" I actually stagger backwards. Her voice is not one, but countless overlapping voices speaking as one, like the roar of a stadium. Whatever the naiads lack in voices, she has enough to make up for all of them!

"Musta slept through it." I smile at her weakly, recovering myself. At the lip of the crater behind her, I catch the briefest glimpse of Snow's bright white hair as he lays the charges. I just have to keep her talking. "Undine, right? I'm First Sergeant Rayce Gunner and we're here on official army business. You're on notice to leave this area; it's military property."

"Don't you darrrre speak to the Queen of the Water Spirrrrits in that way. We have no quarrel with humanssss..." She smiles at an unconscious Finn. "On the contrrrarry, they are quite tasssstyyyy..."

"Let him go." I aim my rifle at her. But she's already lost interest in me, looking over my shoulder. I trace her gaze to a pair of male naiads wielding spears dragging Daphne kicking but not screaming into the crater. _Oh no_.

"Daphne, there you arrre..." Undine's tone is pleasant but her expression is terrifying. A tentacle emerges from the water to force Daphne on her knees. "I should thank you forrrr bringing herrrr back. She hassss been very disobedient lately... Acting out..." The tip of the tentacle snakes along the underside of her jaw, propping up her chin. Daphne pulls away and stares at the ground instead. "How did you break freeeee of my control? Was it out of _lovvve?_ " A tentacle wraps around her baby and Daphne tries to claw it off desperately. But she can't keep her grip as Undine wrenches them apart.

"Look at him," Undine spits, "He'sssss starving... Would a good motherrr let this happen to herrr own child? Would you rather let him die than give his voice to meeeee?" Daphne says nothing - because she can't - but she sets her lips in a defiant line in the face of hundreds of voices shouting her down. "Stupid, selfissssh pond scummm..." Then a wicked grin tugs at Undine's too-wide mouth. "Well if you won't let me havvvve his voice, then he is uselesssss to me." The tentacle lets Daphne's baby down almost tenderly on a flat rock. Then it wraps around a heavier rock and raises it over him.

"No!" I shout, and in the same moment, Daphne lunges desperately. The tentacle tightens, dragging her back on her knees as it coils around her neck for a better grip, squeezing the life out of her. Her terrified eyes are fixed on that rock hanging over her child.

"Don't do this," I plead with Undine.

"Then drrrrop your weapon, human..." I go quiet.

"If I do, you'll let them go?" I say at last.

"Perrrrrhaps."

"Are you crazy?!" Jun interjects from the lineup. "She won't honor her word..." _I know that!_ But I'm not gonna watch her turn that kid into jelly if there was a chance... I hold out my rifle at arm's length. It drops to the ground with a clatter. I see Undine's triumphant grin before it flips.

Something ensnares my ankle and pulls me into the air, upside down. I blink once, twice, then look down - err - _up_ at my feet and find a gelatinous tentacle wound tightly around my ankles. Below me is the pool of radioactive water. I guess you could say I lost _some_ of my leverage... But at least she put the rock down - apparently I'm a far more interesting victim.

"It hasss been a hundred years sssssince I had a man..." Undine muses, "Thisss is what I love about morrrtals... Entertainment, entertainment, _ennnnnterrrrtainnnment!_ " Her laugh bounces back from the curved walls, doubling her collection of voices into thousands. My heart leaps into my throat when more gluey appendages rise up from the pool towards me.

"Whoah! Hey, paws off!" Tentacles, more like it. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ \- My skin breaks out into goosebumps as they find their way into my clothes. Wrapping around my arms, forcing themselves between my legs. One slithers up my shirt to emerge from the neck hole - I cringe away from a probing tip.

"Rayce!" I hear the others calling my name. I just have to stall long enough for Snow to finish... But that might be too long. I'm intensely focused on something cold and slimy inching up my pant leg. Craning my neck, I see its outline like a thick snake under my clothes.

"I'm so verrry glad you came along, Firrrrst Serrrgeant Rayce Gunner." Undine smiles.

"I've had plenty of sex, thank you very much!" Rearing up, I try to tear the tentacle off. Another one shoots from the pool, snaring my wrist. I cry out as she stretches me out diagonally between two of them. She's - she's literally going to tear me apart! But not before she tears my ass in two... I moan helplessly, squeezing my eyes shut as that sticky, mucilaginous - _kindofarousing_ \- disgusting tentacle finds my crotch. It coils around my cock, pumping me aggressively to erection. To think, if I picked Flaere, I wouldn't have to lose my virginity to a monster queen! My resumed thrashing just makes her laugh - a cold, icy sound. I wince but grit my teeth defiantly, holding in a climax against the mounting pressure.

"Hey, Undine, remember when you said you haven't had a man in a hundred years?" Her blue eyes meet mine. "It shows!" I taunt, even though my heated breathing says otherwise.

"SILENCE." Me and my big mouth. Which she promptly stuffs a tentacle into. OhGodOhGrossOhGod! I search the edge of the crater for Snow in a panic. Then I notice Undine staring at me intensely. "What arrrre you looking at?" My heart sinks as she turns around and spots the tiny figure at the edge of the crater. I've blown his cover. "Intruderrrr!" she shrieks, "Capture him!" A tentacle lashes out at the naiads like a whip, spurring them up the sides of the crater.

"Snow's eyes widen; he runs.

Undine turns back to me. Her wriggling hair writhes angrily on her head.

"You no longer amuuuuuse me..." I can only whimper softly as she pumps deeper into my mouth, finding her way into my throat. It almost feels like she's in my _chest._ _Can't breathe-_ I struggle weakly. "No morrre gamesss..." My eyes flutter open to see her drag Finn into the deep. I hear the others doing more than enough screaming to make up for my muffled moans. Then a louder scream as Snow loses his footing while trying to escape his pursuers. And now he's hanging from a cliff. I don't see how this could possibly get worse.

One of Undine's feelers chances on Matteo's alebrije charm. Oh, that's how.

"What'ssss thisss?" She tears into it without a thought - _sizzzzz_ \- A surprising sound, like the sound a steak makes when it hits the grill. Undine screams; the tentacle in my throat retracts on instinct. Instinctively, I catch the pouch streaming salt out of midair while Undine freaks the fuck out. The surface of the tentacle she used to open it froths angrily and shrivels like a raisin. What the... hell?

"Sergeant," Jun's voice reaches me. "It's the salt! She's a freshwater spirit! Use the salt!" Bingo! Undine's eyes widen.

I grin at her victoriously - "You salty, Undine?" - And fling the whole pouch in her face.

Air rushes by my head- she dropped me. I hit the water and resurface, take a big gulp of air. _Finn!_ Then I dive again. Murky water roils around me, churned by the mass of tentacles that makes up Undine's body from the waist down. Wow, she has been drinking the radioactive koolaid for way too long. Finn drifts in almost comical tranquility, eyes closed with his curly hair suspended around his head. Just then, a second shape plunges into the deep. Snow, thrashing, he must have lost his grip, or jumped rather than be captured. Wait, why is he _sinking?_ Snow screams soundlessly as he goes down. I would groan if I wasn't underwater... He can't _swim._ Fuck, not one of _these_ shitty scenarios - I can't save both of them! Snow's desperate purple eyes find me through the dark. I make my choice.

Wrapping my arm around Finn's torso, I swim one-handedly for the light. As I do, another figure dives in. A sideways glance: Flaere's gray eyes meet mine before he torpedoes past towards Snow.

I gasp aloud - air! - and drag Finn's limp body ashore - _please be alive._ If he really does have a god up there, he'd better be checking in right about now! Meanwhile, the naiads stumble around, disoriented. It looks like Undine's mind control was disrupted and my team took advantage of that. Jun grabbed my rifle from where it fell and peppers the naiad ranks with gunfire, putting them on the retreat.

"WHERE ARE YOU, RAYYYYCE GUNNNNER?!" He has to throw himself out of the way as Undine bellows, lashing out blindly with her tentacles. Her beautiful face was eaten away by the acid wash of salt, revealing raw sinew underneath. Her eyes are tightly closed and crusted over with hideous damage. She can't find us, but she'll collapse this entire crater trying! She shatters rocks in her powerful coils and drives deep gashes into the dirt walls. Broken chunks of earth are already rolling down the sides; this place is unstable.

Sylphos ducks a sweeping tentacle and leaps into a roll, retrieving his sniper rifle on the way up. He props it up on a rock, lining up a shot with one eye closed.

"I've got a lock!" he cries. Lock on wha- Then it hits me. The sticky charges! He's going to detonate them with a bullet.

"You'll never make the shot!" Not with Undine interrupting his line of fire. Not with such a teeny, tiny, badly angled target on the other side of the crater! Or so I say, but he just smirks.

"Wait for it! Snow is still down there," Jun shouts back over his shoulder.

"I can't, I have one shot at this!"

"Flaere's down there!" I burst out. Sylphos' yellow gaze turns steely. If I wanted him to stop, maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

_BANG!_

Great plumes of dust erupt along the rim of the crater as huge boulders dislodge and tumble towards the pool. When the dust clears, the dead silence of the fallout zone takes its place. I look up hesitantly. The pool was completely buried in the rockslide. Squashed tentacles protrude from under the rocks like the remains of a dropped jelly sandwich. It worked. _Too well._ A cold terror grips my chest.

"No, no, no..." I dig like a madman, dislodging tiny rocks that aren't making a dent in the pile, but I have to keep going. Flaere is dangerous. He's fucking crazy. But he's my friend, goddammit, that's what friends _are!_ "You killed him. You killed _them,_ " I moan.

"I didn't have a choice," Sylphos says coldly.

"Yes you did!" I pause long enough to yell at him. "You just didn't care! You've always wanted him gone!"

"I would never let something like that affect a mission." Sylphos narrows his eyes. Jun abruptly starts laughing.

"Okay, I'm sorry, you killed that man. And that's your business." He smirks at Sylphos' expression. "But at least _own it._ "

"I'll own it, alright..." Sylphos growls and points the rifle at Jun next. He sobers up pretty quick.

"Stop _killing each other!_ " I spring to my feet, shoving them apart furiously.

"Gunner..." A weak voice interrupts us. _Flaere!_ That was Flaere! I rush towards the sound, finding an arm clawing at the dirt. He's trapped under a rock.

"Hold on, I've got you!" I hook my arms under it and try to lift - okay, that was not a feasible idea.

"Once again, the mind beats muscles." Jun walks over in his own sweet time. He wedges one of the naiad's spears under the rock and uses it to lever the rock just enough for Flaere to shimmy free. He's dragging Snow along. The doctor crawls away on the dirt, then wraps his arms around his knees, rocking gently on his heels.

"This forest doesn't make any scientific sense; it doesn't follow the rules, I mean, why even _have_ rules if it's just going to _be like this-_ " Okay, so he's a little traumatized, but he'll live.

"You're alive!" I squeeze Flaere.

"Rayce..." He hugs back, burying his face in my shoulder. I remember myself and pull away, chuckling awkwardly.

"I mean... It's good to have you back." Flaere has unfinished business as  he looks up at Sylphos standing at a distance determined not to look this way.

"I can't believe you..."

Sylphos rolls his eyes very slowly and rests them on Flaere.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I hurt you, _babe?_ " His curly blue ponytail swishes behind him as he stalks right up to Flaere, glaring venomously. "I guess that makes us even." But this time, Flaere doesn't back down.

"You could've killed _Snow!_ And he didn't do anything to you, he's just a kid!" Snow looks up, blinking incredulously. Flaere drags his hands through his orange hair like he's battling himself. "I built you up so much in my head... You were everything I couldn't be. But now I see that you're not a hero at all, you're just _selfish_."

"It's not my job to be your role model, Hunter."

"Flaere! My name is _Flaere-!_ "

"I don't care." Sylphos cuts him off rudely. "All I care about is finishing this mission."

"And did you do that, or were you just trying to hurt me?" Flaere demands. Sylphos blinks as Flaere places a hand flat on the sniper's chest, over his heart. "I'm done chasing violence and darkness and _cruelty_. I have enough of my own." Then it slips off. Flaere returns to Snow to help him up and dust him off.

Did I just see what I thought I saw? Flaere doing something _mature?_ And I don't mean R-rated... Sylphos looks resentful, like he's just been through a breakup, then confused because he wasn't in a relationship to begin with, then he's glaring at me because it's none of my business.

Finn is rousing anyway; I kneel by his side. He looks up at me with big green eyes, hair powdered with gray dust.

"You saved my life. Again" His thin arms wrap around my neck.

"It was never an option, Finn." I hold his tiny torso.

"A total no-brainer." It was Snow who spoke, wringing water from his ruined t-shirt. He doesn't exactly look angry, but his gaze is intense enough to make me look elsewhere.

Naiads are coming this way. We can all put aside our differences for a moment to raise our guard. But they come unarmed,  gathering around silently like phantoms in the dusty haze. One of them steps forward.

"You're okay," I say in relief when I see Daphne with her baby nestled safely in her arms. She holds out a hand to drop a tear-shaped gemstone into mine. I recognize it as the jewel that was studded in Undine's chest. I stare down at the stone in my palm. Even without Undine manipulating it, it seems to speak in hundreds of whispers. Singing.

"So this is what enslaved you." The others look at me in surprise. "It... It holds their voices," I explain, "Undine harvested them." I look to Daphne. "Right?" She nods slowly, holding her child close to her chest. The child she was trying to protect from a future of eternal silence.

"If that's true, then it's the most powerful psychoactive agent I've ever seen," Jun marvels. There's a greedy gleam in his eyes. "Mission accomplished!" He holds out his hand. "Here, why don't I hang on to that?" The jewel clinks against the ground instead. He leaps for it too late as I crush it under my boot.

A gust of air tears through the clearing - voices flit by my ears, overlapping and catcalling each other before they race away. When the gale dies down, the naiads are already fleeing this horrible, empty place, filtering away into the trees. Daphne finally smiles up at me, her elfin face radiant in the sunset. The baby coos, a powder blue hand reaching from the wrappings. She leans up on her tiptoes to plant a cool kiss on my cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers like the rustle of leaves and then she is gone.

 

###

 

I dip my hands into the stream and watch cold water flow over my palms. I should've asked Matteo to teach me how to read them; maybe they'd tell me what to do. I hear the noises from the campsite, and the faint glow of the fire backlights the bushes behind me, but I feel like being alone right now. Which is fucking ironic, I'll give you that.

"If you're beating your meat, I'll give you three seconds to put it away." I turn around to see Sylphos pushing through the foliage. The big sniper kneels by the stream beside me.

"I was just refilling the canteens."

"Without the actual canteens, huh?" He waves the canteen in his hand at me knowingly. Busted. "You should be happy. I was starting to think you were a crappy leader or something." Sylphos lets out a sarcastic bark of laughter.

"It's complicated," I mutter. Sylphos heaves a small sigh.

"I finally got my psycho stalker to stop stalking me. And now I feel like... I let him down? _That's_ complicated." I smirk at him. The Marine's presence is actually kind of comforting in this dark pocket of forest. But the canteen is already full; he's screwing the lid back on. I blurt something out, just to keep him around,

"My father died." Then I wince. Did I have to pick _that?_ "I mean... He died in that fallout zone. Nuked." Sylphos' yellow eyes land on me, bright in the darkness.

"I'm sorry."

"But I hated him."

"Then, congratulations."

"But I still miss him. That's weird, right?"

Sylphos doesn't answer right away. He sits back on his heels with his muscular arms crossed over his chest, looking up at the night sky.

"Nah, I get it. I didn't know my father, but if I did, I think I'd hate him too."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he was the kind of no-good, lowlife waste of testicles who would sell his infant son to researchers as a guinea pig." He shrugs casually.

"Yeah, that'll do it." My eyes widen at that. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"I shouldn't let him waste a goddamn second of my time, but I still wonder what he was like, you know?"

I know what my father was like. If there's one thing I know, it's that. I just couldn't understand _why_ he was like that.

"My father was a bad person, but he did something good. My brother was a good person... and he did something really, _really_ bad..."

"There's no point holding yourself responsible for something _they_ did," says Sylphos abruptly, "The only thing that should matter to you, is what _you're_ going to do about it." He stands up; I guess that was all the sharing of feelings he could tolerate for one day. "So quit crying the world a river; we got plenty of those." He shakes the canteen pointedly, making the water slosh around inside. "And do something, because we've only got two Gunners left."

"You think I should talk to him," I snort.

"Hey, my vote is for the cage match." Sylphos grins. "But yeah, if you want the pussified version instead." With that, he heads back to camp, leaving me alone by the stream again.

"You look just like him." So who the hell said that?! I leap backwards, looking around wildly. I don't see anyone, but I sure heard something. Only when I slow down and concentrate do I see a pair of red eyes floating in the air on the other side of the stream. I'm not sure what the appropriate reaction to disembodied floating eyes is, so I point a gun at them. Damn, that military training really sticks, doesn't it? "I suppose I should thank you for clearing out the fallout zone. It was my favorite place to brood before that slimy wench moved in." The eyes float back and forth along the bank as if the owner is pacing the bank, but they never break eye contact.

"How are you doing that?" I demand.

"Your brother wasn't too happy to see me either - or _not_ see me as the case may be. That hurt my feelings. Just a little." The burning eyes draw closer, fixed on mine. I hear the splash of water in the stream and see the water flowing around invisible feet, the same way it flowed around my hands.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard that Rayce Gunner was here in Fade," he says, "Of course, it didn't help that you slayed my entire scouting unit. But then again, you're a Gunner." Soft laughter. "I would expect no less."  

"Vampire," I accuse, tightening my grip on my rifle.

"I thought we were past that. Do keep up, Rayce." The sound of fingers snapping impatiently. Fine then.

" _Invisible_ vampire," I update.

"Now you're thinking. That bomb changed me, like it changed Undine. The effects of radiation on the creatures of Fade are... Unpredictable." Dark stripes of color ripple over the shape of a hand held inches in front of my face. I can't help but stare, and be reminded of a cuttlefish I once saw on a school trip to the aquarium... It's almost relaxing. Until I notice his intense gaze boring a hole in my head. "You look _just like him_ ," he repeats himself.

"You've met my father?" I hate that I know what he's talking about.

" _'Met'._ " The eyes wink out of sight for a moment; he's laughing. "I was the last earthly thing he ever saw."

"You..." I take a few steps back, unnerved. The leaves crunch under my soles.

"I met your brother too. Cisco." The red eyes glitter with amusement. "He looks a bit... _off-brand_. But you..."

"Wait, that means..." Something clicked in my head and it's horribly _wrong_. "You survived the blast?"

"Survive is one word for it. I call it a _curse_. Cursed to wander this forest forever, reviled by the Sanguine Council and the Republic Army alike, while incestuous deals transpire between the two."

"And you're not the only one." Dread crawls down my spine. The nuclear option didn't work; it just made the vamps stronger. See? I told you everyone gets cool powers but me...

"No, I'm not," he says simply.

"He gave up..." I trail off. Cisco gave up. And... my shoulders shake with silent laughter. "My father died in vain... And then my brother gave up! Of course, that's just... That's just what he'd do. There is no war, is there?" I ask more quietly. The vampire doesn't answer me. "There's no war, because we already surrendered." After all those years of him being the _perfect son._ Of course that's what he ended up doing because the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

"What do you want from me?" I demand.

"I have a message for your brother," he says ominously.

"Do you now?" I smile. "Is it 'go fuck yourself'? Because I'm going to tell him that whether you ask me to or not." The red eyes crinkle in a smile.

"It's an alliance I propose. The Sanguine Council enlisted your brother's help to exterminate my people. But it's not just because we are rebels. They _fear_ us. Fear our powers, and they have right to. If we worked together instead of letting them pit us against each other-"

"You think we could win the not-war." I complete his sentence, unconvinced.

"Think about it," the vampire says simply.

"That's crazy."

His eyes crinkle again. "What's the price of blood again? Do you sell it by the pound or by the ounce?" I fall silent.   

The red eyes vanish. I think he's already gone until I hear his voice again,

"Vex." But he sounds much further away.

"Huh?"

"Vex Delacroix. The name you'll need to call when you're running through a dark forest at night, searching for me. I'll find you."

"Likely."

I can barely hear his laughter before it fades out. I lower my gaze to the stream again, staring at my reflection. My red hair and dark eyes against the forest canopy above me. Do I really look that much like him?

Making my way back to camp. I already know it's pointless to carry that message to Cisco... First of all, it's _insane_ , let's be clear about that. Secondly, he always thinks he's right; knows exactly what to do. Just look how far he went already, and he's _still_ convinced he's in the right - hell - he nearly got me killed today trying to prove a fucking point!

All of these things, bouncing around in my head with nowhere to go. Every new secret just builds the pressure in there, and I have to deal with it _alone_. I brush an overhanging branch out of the way and lift my face to the light of the campfire, casting shadows of my teammates sitting in a ring around it. Jun looks over at me.

"You look like shit," he comments helpfully.

"I gave him a pep talk," Sylphos says distractedly, watching Snow very closely as the young doctor wraps up one of his wounds.

"Well no wonder, then."

"Are you feeling okay?" Finn looks more concerned. And suddenly, I'm looking around at them in amazement. Wait a second, that smartass is Jun, the smartest guy in the army. Sylphos, the intimidating Marine who hits every target he aims for. Flaere, who's every bit as loyal as he is _terrifying_ . Snow is what, 15? And he's a surgeon? Finn _makes great cookies._ They're all looking at me, yeah, kind of bored and uninterested, but I can work with that! I'm not alone. And the secrets need to come out. I start off slow,

"Someone once told me that there's no point holding myself responsible for what my family has done. That the only thing that matters, is what I'm going to do about it."

"That was me, I told you that, like, five minutes ago. _Are_ you feeling okay?" Sylphos' mouth tilts.

"Guys. I have something to tell you." In response to their confused staring, I spread the eyelids of one of my eyes with two fingers and fish around inside.

"What are you _doing?_ " Jun sounds repulsed. _Got it-_ I pinch the contact lens and pull it out, blinking rapidly.

I see their faces change, widening in horror. Mouths opening, but there are no words, just shocked _noises_ . Finn grabs for his cross while Sylphos reaches for his gun, but he stops right there with his hand on the metal, frozen. Jun scrambles _all_ the way back behind both of them,

"Please say it isn't true." Flaere whimpers. There's a pleading look in his eyes as he searches mine and it's because it's _red_. My eyes are red, mismatched now as I flick the dark colored contact into the leaves on the ground somewhere.  

"So." I sigh. "Shall we take it from the top?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the way THR is set up, I don't get to write female characters much, which is a shame because I do like writing female characters, believe it or not!


	15. Fangs Out, Gloves Off

One of my most vivid memories from school was a biology class. You know the one: when they carted in the frogs and you found out which of your classmates were pussies and which were psychopaths. Maybe there was a doctor or two mixed in there somewhere, but probably not enough to justify that genocide of frogs. I think I already knew which category I fell into when I realized how much fun I had cutting into a living thing. I propped my thick plastic goggles up on my head and gazed into the doomed amphibious bastard's chest cavity as I coldly counted up the lethargic beats of its heart until they stopped completely. I think I did get an education that day, but it was in the same species superiority complex that makes vampires look at us like little more than livestock with an inconvenient amount of feelings. And guns.

Snow pokes around in my open mouth with a q-tip while everyone watches with big, nervous eyes. His latex-clad fingers taste gross and rubbery.

"Ow, hey," I protest. My hands are cuffed securely behind my back. I accepted the restraints without a fight, hey, if it makes the guys feel better. I'll just pretend it's a kink thing and not my own friends believing the hype that I'm a blood-sucking monster... Snow puts pressure on a sensitive place just above my canine tooth.

"Wait, wait, check this out!" He sounds excited and terrified at the same time. He massages my gums with his thumb and I can feel fangs slide out. "Holy crap!" The q-tip lands in the grass as my entire team takes a few collective steps back. The fangs feel cold and foreign, like there's something solid stuck between my teeth and no matter how hard I try, I can't pick it out. My tongue accidentally brushes a sharp point and recoils rapidly into my mouth.

"Well if you liked that, you're really going to enjoy this," Opening my mouth to show them, I retract my fangs safely out of sight, sheathed in my gums. "Neat party trick, huh?" I chuckle awkwardly, but no one's smiling. Total buzzkill.  

"You're a _vamp?_ " Sylphos is the first to just straight up _ask me_.

"No!" I clarify quickly. "I mean, yeah, I mean..." I get mixed up trying to find the most reassuring place to start. There might not be one. The look on their faces is making me think I should have practiced this spiele in the mirror first or something... So I get the important bit out of the way: "I don't drink blood. I haven't been tapping you guys like a creepy mosquito or anything, so if that's what you were worried about..." They don't look very relieved, or maybe they just don't believe me.

"But your teeth... And your _eyes_." Jun narrows his own at me distrustfully.

"I've had them for as long as I can remember," I explain, "There was no turning, no dying... I think I was born with them, actually. And I mean, obviously, I've still been aging. But not too much, right?" I wink, but they ignore my attempt to lighten the mood.  

"Is that even possible?" Jun turns to Snow.

"I..." The doctor falters. "Well, _I've_ never seen anything like it. Assuming for a moment that's it's medically possible, it would have to mean that one of his parents was a vampire." He looks at me curiously. "Who was your mother? Do you have a pedigree from the Repopulation Society?" I just laugh at that. I would love to see that certificate: 'Sire: Draven Gunner, Dame: Some vampire bitch, probably.'

"Your father must have said _something_..." Flaere says quietly.

"My father wasn't exactly the type to have long conversations with me about my place in the universe." My words come out sounding bitter. No, all he ever told me was to cover up: wear colored contacts as soon as I was old enough to put them in myself, always keep my fangs retracted, even though I had less control over them when I was a kid. Switched schools at the drop of a hat if I ever slipped up. It was rigor and routine for him like everything else in his life: just another drill. Maybe _he_ was the one I was really covering for.

"Well this explains a lot..." Jun kneads his brow.

"I'm not a vampire!"

"But you are!" Flaere bursts out. He buries his face in his hands, moaning, "You are, you are, oh Rayce, how can we trust you...?"

"Finn, tell them," I turn desperately to the blonde. He's my number one character witness, but Finn has been weirdly silent through this whole witch trial, wearing a haunted expression. He glances at me; his lips tremble without opening. And that makes me realize that I've given them nothing except uncomfortable questions that I can't even answer. And now they look at me differently. My stomach churns- _what was I thinking?_

"Uncuff him," Sylphos says suddenly.  
Jun looks at him in disbelief. "What are you, insane? We need to figure this thing out. We need to figure _him_ out..."

"When I tell you to do something, I expect you to fucking _do it._ " The Marine rose to the position of interim leader so naturally - _so naturally_ , in fact, that we didn't even have a discussion about it... Flaere needs no further convincing as he drops behind me. I hear the familiar clink of my cuffs unlocking.

"I knew you'd come around..." I get to my feet.

"Go to your room," Sylphos orders. It makes me laugh abruptly.

"What?" He can't be serious- okay, he looks pretty damn serious. "Did you forget who's leading this mission?" I step up threateningly until something cold against my middle stops me; I look down to see his rifle directed at my stomach.

"You just got demoted," Sylphos says, "Now go to your room." I glare at him; I can tell my red eyes unsettle him from the way his mouth twists, but I'll back down. Just this once.

'My room' is a tent; a dusty green tarp over my head. I dig wildly through my backpack, tossing things: ration packs - _not you_ \- ammo cartridges - _nope_ \- and a tube of lube - I know, _really?_ \- go flying through the air. _I didn't forget them, did I?_ I think to myself nervously, _How could I be so fucking dumb..._ That's when I zero in on the blister packs that settled at the bottom of the backpack. Hastily peeling off the plastic, I fit in a fresh pair of contacts and roll over on my back under a cold wave of relief. Normal again.

I stare up at the point where the tent sections come together, with an arm folded behind my head. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._ Why did I just come out and _tell_ them like that? I feel like I mustered up the courage to confess my feelings to a high school crush and the douchebag laughed me out of the room. I preferred being the douchebag.

I pop my head up at the rustling of the tent flap. A bright orange head of hair: Flaere lets himself in.

"Did you come here to stake me through the heart?" I ask sarcastically, falling back on my arm.

"So you have a secret second identity; I know what that's like." He laughs awkwardly.

"But it's not a second identity," I say irritably, "I'm still the same person."

"Give them time." Flaere lays down next to me. I roll my head to look at the gorgeous soldier in my tent and remember how lucky I am. The soft yellow light from my lantern makes his flame hair glow. I follow the flickering indulgently over a well-trained body that I just can't help but touch. A smile curls his lips; he shrugs off an arm of his jacket so I can run a hand along the bare ridges of his side.

"Sooo... Sylphos," I say casually, half because I want to change the subject and half because I want to gauge the whole... _thing_ between them. Regret joins the flickers on his face.

"Did I do the right thing?" He sounded so sure, almost _confident_ in the moment, but I know Flaere has probably been second-guessing himself constantly ever since.

"You did," I concur.

"But I still like him..."

"Well you can't just switch off the way you feel. You should just do what I do and don't feel anything in the first place: keep it physical," I advise Flaere as I pull his muscular body up against mine.

"I want a boyfriend, not a gym partner," he mumbles, furrowing his brow. I let my hands roam free.

"Besides, Sylphos is a jerk." And that means Flaere is back on the market... Not that I say it out loud. Flaere warms up to my touch, instinctively searching for another body - a companion. Fingers find their way under my shirt and then he's helping me lift it up and off over my head. He lets his hands slide back down over my chest. Wrapping my arms around him, I squeeze him into a sweet, sticky kiss. Hunter did say he likes candy... As our tongues intertwine, I move to slip off his pants. Flaere breaks off, panting softly. He looks away, flushed. I know the 'second thoughts face' too well...

"He's not a jerk... It was my fault. I freaked him out. Because I'm a _freak_."

"Join the club." I grin. "Look, if that's all he ever sees in you, then he's an idiot. There's way more to you than that..."

"You really mean that?" His grey eyes glimmer as he slips his fingers into the spaces between mine. Fishing for compliments again? Kay, I'll bite.

"Of course I do." I draw a bright lock of hair out of his eager face. "You're sexy as hell..." His attention wanders a bit at the physical stuff, so I course correct: "And talented. And sweet." I kiss him again like I'm double-checking, then rest my forehead against his with a small sigh. "You're... You're a good friend, Flaere." Shocked by how genuine it sounds, I quickly dismiss it by lifting his leg to access his entrance sideways. Keepin' it physical. Hey whaddaya know, that lube came in handy after all.

Flaere moans as I slide smoothly inside him. He tightens his leg around my hip; I grip it by the inside of the knee.

"Rayce," he pants out loud.

I move slow, focused on the way his sensitive pucker tightens and relaxes on me in time with my thrusts. Inside of him is warm; it lulls me into the crook of his neck, where I bury my face and bite down playfully. An abrupt shriek makes me pull back, startled.

I stare at him in disbelief. "You seriously thought I was going to bite you? Like _bite_ bite you?"

"Sorry!" Flaere claps a hand over his mouth.

"Forget it..." I mutter, annoyed now. If he doesn't trust me, then why are we over here cuddling like lovers? I move on top of him, hands on either side of his head while I give it to him missionary style - strictly business. Flaere's legs come to rest over my thighs. He pants softly, searching my eyes for a place to start again. I glance away.

"Wh-What's your favorite color?" And he picked _that?_ My mind wanders.

"I have lots of favorite colors..." I trail off. The hunter green of Flaere's favorite jacket, Sylphos' mocha lips. Jun's perfect violet hair. The rosy pink of the permanent flush across Finn's cheeks. The deep blue in Matteo's eyes... "Probably not red." A small smirk finds its way onto my face.

"I like red..." Flaere drags his fingers through my hair, obsessed. "Favorite position?"

"Anything with you in it, babe." I grin insincerely.

"What do you think of the moon landing?"

"Hoax. Definitely. And 9/11 was an inside job- Look it up"

"If you had three wishes-"

"More wishes. Easy. Next."

Flaere looks at me, dead serious. "Give me your opinion on... pineapple on pizza." I grip his face between my hands and respond, just as serious,

"Only if you give me yours on _pickles_ on pizza."

"Oh _groooooosssss!_ " He makes a face, then bursts out laughing.   

When Flaere wants to change positions, he changes positions; I don't get a say. He rolls on top, neatly tucking me under him with his strong legs. My hands go right to his hips. Good thing I appreciate this angle of him: watching his disciplined body move up and down on my cock while he handles himself. He borrows one of my hands and guides it to his manhood where I take over, pumping vigorously. I draw a moan from the depths of his throat. Hey, you can call me a lot of things but a selfish lover is not one of them!

"Do you ever think it could've been us?" he wonders aloud. I look at him, surprised. "What if we met first? And you fell in love with me instead." My mind skips to Matteo again, but this time, it circles back around and rests on Flaere.

"I'm not in love with anyone," I tread carefully into this brave new world, "But yeah... I think it could've been. It _could_ be. Did I say it couldn't? I don't remember saying that, because it could be us." I sound desperate. Needy. _Rein it in, Gunner._ "Unless," I clear my throat awkwardly. "You don't think it could."

"That makes me really happy." He doesn't quite answer but grinds on me, moaning softly as he warms me to a climax.

Flaere suddenly crumples in on himself, dropping his face into his hands. "That makes me so happy..." I hear sobbing behind his orange hair. "I can't do this..."

"Flaere?" I reach for his face.

"Then _I_ will." A _knife_. He drives the blade straight through my palm into the soft dirt below. Stabbing, shooting pain- my fingers spasm in agony.

"Are you _fucking kidding me?!_ " I'm screaming. Fool me once... I latch onto his wrist, trying in vain to loosen his hold. He grips my jaw tight, forcing me to look at him. "We were having a moment!" I spit.

"We worked too hard for this," Hunter hisses, "We can't go back to that place." His nonsense bounces right off.

"What are you talking about?" Then he twists the knife and I can't form words anymore, just _noises_.

My own legs kicking at the dirt, stirring up rotten leaves and leaving a zig-zag trail as Hunter drags me deep into the woods. He has two fistfuls of my shirt while I claw at his grip desperately. There's blood under my fingernails, so I know I'm doing damage- does _nothing_ get through to this terminator man?!

"Where are you taking me?" I try words again. But Hunter doesn't answer, let alone slow down, trawling me in steadily to whatever awful fate he has in store.

Hunter tosses me. I tumble down a disorienting incline and land on cold dirt, groaning as I raise my uninjured arm over my face. When I recover myself, I realize I'm at the bottom of a hole. Promising. Above me, my entire team frames the hole in a half-circle, except for Snow. So it wasn't just Flaere's psychosis; everyone's in on it. Screaming for help is not an option...

"Flaere, what took you so long?" Jun looks testy.  

"Sorry, Flaere isn't home right now. Which is what took so long." Hunter chuckles.

Cold liquid splashes into the pit; I raise a hand against it. "Hey!" The smell of gasoline fills the hole and revs my pounding heart into overdrive. Sylphos shakes the last drop from his flask and screws the top back on.

"What are you guys _doing?_ " I ask a question I already know the answer to.

"Our jobs," he answers, "You're a _vampire_ , Gunner."

"Can I be a wizard instead?" I let out a nervous laugh. Nothing? Really? C'mon... I change gear, "Are you even listening to yourself right now? I'm _not_ your enemy!" I pan their serious expressions desperately for a fleck of mercy and come up empty-handed. Finn steps forward to the edge of the pit. Finn! Sweet, angel-face, cherry-pie-filling and funfetti-cake-batter Finn... "You gotta tell them," I plead. His green eyes well up. He speaks,

"I commend you, dear brother,

to almighty God,

and entrust you to your Creator.

May you return to Him

who formed you from the dust of the earth."

He flicks the lighter; the wet tear tracks on his cheeks glisten. "Even though you're probably going to hell..." They're really gonna do it.  

"Wait, wait!" I hold up my arms. "Just let me say something! Give me two minutes... Don't you think I deserve that much?"

"You deserve nothing," says Jun.

Sylphos folds his muscled arms. "And why should we listen to anything you have to say?"

"Yeah, so maybe you shouldn't... But I don't think you guys want to burn me alive either! I know Flaere doesn't, at least." Hunter narrows his eyes at me. "Just... hear me out. And if you aren't convinced, then go ahead and set me on fire; I won't even scream. That much." A tense moment passes; no one says a word.

Finally, Sylphos nods briefly at Finn. The flame retreats under the lid of the lighter for now. I only get a moment to take a deep breath. Okay. Coming out as a sort-of vampire: take two.

"I wish I could tell you exactly what I am, but the truth is, I don't know much more than what I already told you. I was just made this way. Maybe you guys get what that feels like." Sylphos looks away for a second while Hunter shifts his weight to the other foot. "But I do know why I told you about it. And sure, I probably overestimated how likeable I am..."

Jun scoffs. "You actually think you're _likeable?_ "

"Look who's talking." Sylphos points out dryly.

"At least I have no delusions about it."

"The point is, I wanted to show you that I trusted you!" I blurt out. "Because I need your help! We're in trouble and I can't do this alone..."

Sylphos looks at me distrustfully. "Do what exactly?"

"I don't know just yet, but it's about the farm, Sylphos." I set my jaw and meet his gaze. "Vamps don't run it; _we_ do." His yellow eyes widen.

" _What?_ "

Jun glances between us. "Farm? What's the farm? Wait don't tell me." He chews on his lip, conflicted. "Okay, tell me."

"You mean your brother is-!" Sylphos can't even finish his sentence, he's so shocked and outraged. I nod, grim.

"It gets worse. He surrendered the war." That needs no further context as the others exchange alarmed looks. I go on, "He made a deal with the Sanguine Council and _we're_ the terms. The slave program has to be part of it too. This is the endgame... And we're not doing anything to stop it."

Flaere moans aloud, muffled through his hands over his mouth,

"We can't," He shakes his head despairingly. "We can't be slaves again..."

"He's just saying things! Trying to manipulate you," Jun hisses close to Sylphos' ear like a conniving snake. He sniffs out power like a bloodhound; know exactly who to suck up to to get what he wants, but unfortunately for him, Sylphos isn't that easy to play for a fool.  

"This is my brother we're talking about. I have nothing to gain from lying to you." I bare my hands, arms splayed out like that frog pinned to the board. At their mercy, with nothing left to to hide.

"Dammit... Dammit!" Sylphos swears and says at last, "He's telling the truth."

"If you want something done right around here, you have to do it yourself!" Jun makes a grab for the lighter; the flicker of orange makes my heart leap into my throat.  

"Jun, that's enough!" Sylphos comes to my rescue, seizing the smaller man by the collar. He rattles him until he begrudgingly hands over the lighter. Jun settles his rumpled clothes with a single, indignant sweep of his hands.

"You're all crazy if you think you can take down Commander Cisco Gunner! He's going to throw you in the deepest, darkest, most depraved sex dungeon he can find..." So, Damon's living room, then? "And all because you swallowed a crock of insane conspiracy theories cooked up by his ex-con brother. Who by the way, is a _vampire!_ Yeah, that should look great in the headlines!" He jabs a finger into the Marine's broad chest. "You're free to Semper Fiddle your way to your own doom, but leave me out of it!" Jun storms off in the direction of the campsite. On the way, he knocks shoulders with Snow who is just emerging from between the trees.

"Sorry," the doctor says, rudely ignored. "What's with him..." That's when he notices the rest of us. His mouth twists in confusion; he plants his hands on his narrow hips. "I thought you guys were digging a toilet out here."

I look up at him sternly from inside the pit. "Keep your pants on, Coolidge, or you're going to be a woman _permanently_..."

Sylphos grabs me by the inside of the arm, helping me out of the pit. I dust myself off but I still stink of gasoline. That doesn't stop Finn from throwing a hug around my waist, sobbing into my side.

"I'm sorry, Rayce, I was just scared for you..." The rest of his excuse comes out in the form of unintelligible blubbering. I plant a hand in his curls, patting them gently.

"It's okay, Finn. You're okay," I sigh.

"Rayce," I look at Sylphos, who spoke, over my crying slave's head, "The vampire thing... Keep that under wraps. We don't need to complicate things any more than they are."

"And who I am is... _Complicated_ , and you don't like that." I chuckle, bitter. "Fine. I get it."

"I _don't_ like it," Sylphos confirms with a harsh edge to his tone. "It's fucking messed up, and Jun's a pussy, but has a point." Then his yellow gaze softens. He says much more quietly, "But I'm glad you told us."

Am I? I bury my face wordlessly in Finn's soft curls.

 

###

 

When we return to base, we report to General Weiser's office, lined up in a row before his desk.

"Congratulations, recruits," he says. He's trying to keep up the whole army drill sergeant routine, but I see pride in his blue eyes. "You took care of the situation and made this division proud." Weiser notices the cold shoulder treatment. "Oh come on now, you're looking at me like I'm Lieutenant Axel," he chuckles at his own jab. _Like Lieutenant Axel_... That gets my attention. Weiser wasn't at any of the General 'Meetings', at least, not that I know about, and he doesn't exactly seem to be Axel's biggest fan.

"We're just a little tired, Sir." I cover.

"That's understandable." He lowers his gaze to a tablet, typing. "You deserve a rest. Sterling, I'll put in a good word with Knotts for you. You're all dismissed." The others can't seem to get out fast enough. Weiser glances up from the screen when he realizes I'm still standing there.

"Yes?"

"Sir, what do you know about Lieutenant Axel?"

His lip curls under his moustache. "Is that you asking me for dirt on a superior?"

"Well, considering that super attempted to rape me and I didn't even file a harassment complaint, I'd say I earned it." Weiser raises an eyebrow at me, a mixture of annoyed and impressed. He puts down the sheet and folds his hands on top of it.

"Let's see... Oh," His face lights up mischievously. "A rumor crossed my desk that he and your brother are-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know about that part," I cut him off, embarrassed.

"Well what do you want me to tell you, Gunner?" He looks grumpy that his tidbit wasn't as juicy as he thought it was. "I don't know much more about him than you do. Breezed into headquarters one day. Cisco took a shine to him and installed him as a lieutenant. Gave him the reins to his little 'project'. And... Well, you know the rest." No, there's gotta be more.  

"You didn't think that was strange at all?" I press him. "You didn't think you should tell anyone?"

Weiser lets out a heavy sigh. He leans back in his leather chair and stares at the air conditioning vent on the ceiling. "Your brother - Cisco - he was always the quiet type. Honestly, we thought _you_ were going to be the one to join the army. Wanted it, even. Of course, now that you're actually here, I know better." His lips tug into a smirk at that. I can't help but return it. "Anyway, he's not like your father; he calculates; he looks ahead. That's why his decisions don't all make sense at first, but they always turn out alright in the end."

"You're more like Draven," Weiser muses. I follow his gaze to a framed photo on his desk. A unit of fresh-faced recruits. Oh look it's me- well actually, my father when he was my age. Okay, okay, I see the resemblance. Standing next to him is a well-built young man with crisp black hair and husky blue eyes. His dimpled chin makes him look like a superhero. Turns out, Weiser was a total babe. At Father's right hand is what has to be Thade. He still has those intense eyes, but he also had hair back then. Honey blonde, if you were wondering.

"The loudest, most self-entitled military brat the world had ever known," Weiser narrates, "With absolutely no respect for the chain of command. He was reckless but he got the job done too, in his own way."

"Those were the days, huh."

"Oh no, it was the worst, we all nearly died." He chuckles, then abruptly clears his throat and looks at me, apologetic.

"It's fine," I say dismissively.   

"What I'm trying to say is, you Gunners have always had your own way of doing things and I don't know how, but it's kept us afloat in this war so far. That's what we're all trying to do: stay afloat another day. Then wake up the next day and do it again."

"Thanks for telling me." I move to the door, but just as I grab the handle-

"Rayce." My hand freezes. "I wanted to do something. We all did."

He doesn't get to play that card. "But you didn't, did you?"

"I'm sorry." My shoulders drop, suddenly weak.

"I'm sorry too." I push through the door.

 

In the silence of the hall. I dig my radio out of my pocket and turn it to the frequency that Cisco uses. I lift it to my lips, depressing the button.

"Cisco?" And release. No response, and I think he isn't going to. Until he does - well, sort of. I hear staticky crackling, but no words. He's holding down the button without speaking, just to alert me to his presence. The radio cuts out. This time, I know he's listening when I speak again, "Cisco, I know that's you." A quick look down the empty corridor on both sides. "Don't do this," I whisper.

 _"It's too late, Rayce."_ His voice sound low and strained, almost breathless.

"It isn't. Cisco, just _talk to me._ " I'm practically begging - _begging!_ \- this moron to turn the clown car around before we go careening off the cliff!

 _"Help."_ His voice cracks; it isn't static. _"Help, help, help me-"_ Cut off a by sob dredged up from the depths of his chest. My skin crawls because my brother doesn't break down. He is never supposed to break down.

"I'm trying! How? Tell me how to help you..." The radio cuts out. "Hello? Hello? Cisco! God- _dammit!_ " I almost hurl the radio at the wall, I'm so angry. The radio stays silent this time, but I can still hear his voice in my head.

 

###

 

"I need your help." My eyes opened slowly to the sight of my brother's fiery red cowlick trembling on air conditioner waves. It just refused to stay down, until he grew old enough to learn how to strangle the life out of it with a straightening iron. "It happened again," he says.  

"Do I have to?" I groaned. The blanket rustled and the bedsprings squeaked in complaint as I rolled over in the top bunk so I wouldn't have to look into his big, watery grey eyes. They were less like storm clouds back then; more like an overcast sky hanging above a damp, dreary city.

"Please?" he pleaded. I forgot that his sad voice worked on me too.

"Fine..." I grumbled, toeing the slats of the wooden ladder as I climbed out of bed.

I knew the hardwood stairs were more treacherous, so I tiptoed on the way down to keep them from creaking and giving us away. Cisco clung to my hand, trailing nervously behind. He was so skinny; his tiny feet never made a sound on _any_ kind of surface, further muffled by fuzzy frog socks bunched loosely around his ankles. The living room was dark, which turned it into a minefield of discarded cigarette butts, dark glass bottles and the occasional used syringe, but we had to cross it if I was going to get Cisco to the bathroom on the other side. The TV babbled on in the background:

_"-heroic actions of Commander Draven Gunner were instrumental to what would become one of the single most decisive conflicts of the war-"_

'The Battle of Golden Gate,' I found myself mouthing along silently with the documentary. Clips of the battle played on the screen, illuminating sleeping prostitutes on the sofa in flashes of artillery fire. One of them is splayed out flat on the laminates. He snorts in his sleep and jerks suddenly. His arm falls against the floor in front of us, making Cisco squeal and leap backwards. Cisco was a weird kid. A weird, sensitive little kid. Didn't like big crowds or places with lots of people, didn't have many friends, kept his head down at school and definitely, _definitely_ didn't like it when strangers were in his house.

He needed me.

"Come on," I urged him gently, stepping over the arm in our path to show him it was okay. That was when I heard it:

 _"Gunner, get off your lazy ass and come see us! It's just not the same blitzing vamps without you."_ Weiser's voice. I knew the names, although I didn't have faces to attach to them. It was a message on the answering machine, which meant... I peered over the back of the couch fearfully. Lines of light filtered between the window blinds, interrupted by the silhouette of my father hunched in his favorite recliner, clutching his phone.

A second voice interrupted Weiser.

_"Hey, bet you can't still do a keg stand, Big Red. Or is it Wrinkly Grey now? Ha!"_

_"So yeah, come on down; Lazuli can mix up some cocktails. You could even bring th_ _e kids."_ Weiser faltered, chuckling awkwardly. _"Not for the cocktails, obviously. Or ya know, CALL maybe... It would be real good to hear your voice."_ The next message in the queue played,

 _"Since you won't pick up, consider this your official invitation to the ceremony."_ That voice was much more measured, and serious. Knotts. _"They're promoting me to Major. You couldn't be bothered to come to the last two; but I just thought you'd want to know. You need to snap out of it. You need to get help."_ Father skipped to the next one.

 _"Draven, I know you're there. Just fucking PICK UP THE PHONE! You can't do this to me... Just let me see him. Please. Please, Draven, I'll do whatever you ask,"_ the hysterical voice on the other end pleads. That voice: it had a name too. _Sylvester_ . He sounded on the verge of tears. That one, Father seemed to enjoy the most. He leaned back in his chair and replayed it, _"Please- Please- Please-"_ The room filled with desperation. Terror.

Sylvester's voice chased me like a howling wolf as I dragged Cisco along behind me- but the end was in sight! I gripped the knob to the bathroom. Locked. Then it twisted on its own. A pair of strippers stepped out of the bathroom, tittering about something. One of them noticed us standing, frozen at the door.

The stripper had dreamy swirls of pale green hair and chocolate brown eyes. His skimpy clothing didn't cover much of his creamy skin. I ran my eyes over his willowy physique as my face went weirdly hot. He was making me feel things: stubs of emotions that I couldn't even comprehend. Cisco shrank in the spot behind me, strangling my fingers in his grip.

"Oh gross, he has kids," the green-haired stripper whispered to the other.

"They can hear you." His friend nudged him sharply in the side.

"Maybe they're not morons." The stripper adjusted his thong seductively as he bent over, hands on his knees. "Heeey kids," He smiled patronizingly. "Know where your uncle Thin Mint can find a lighter?" He held up an unlit cigarette pointedly.

"Boys?" That was Father, sitting up straight in his chair. My blood ran cold. "What are you doing out of bed? You know you're not supposed to be out of bed!" Then suddenly, he was right in front of us. He seemed ten feet tall in that living room, looming over us like a bear about to claw our faces off. " _How many times_ have I told you?"

Cisco screamed. A dark stain travelled down the leg of his pajamas, and then he was sobbing.

"Not with this fucking shit again, Cisco," Father swore, "Grow a pair already; what the fuck is wrong with you?!" _He needed me._ I just threw myself between them, my little arms spread out protectively, but that wasn't what made Father hesitate. I realized my fangs dropped in all the confusion, bared threateningly at him. A flicker - not quite fear, but _something -_ crossed his face. He lowered his voice to a scratchy growl.

"Shut your mouth, Rayce." I quickly clapped my hands over my mouth, trying to remember how to retract. They just wouldn't _go back in._ Father brushed me off to grab Cisco, yanking him along so hard that I thought his skinny arm would pop out of its socket. The bathroom door slammed shut behind them.

Silence until low laughter disturbed it. Thin Mint was giggling and shaking his head.

"Did you see that, Buns? Did you see what he did to that poor kid? Fucking hell!"

His companion folded his arms disapprovingly. "It's not funny, Mint."

"No Fun Buns." Thin Mint waved a hand at him and then wandered back into the living room. "Oi, get up boys, show's over! It's a code purple: Barney the Purple Dinosaur." He aimed a kick at the stripper on the floor, making him roll over with a groan of complaint before moving on to wake the ones on the couch.

Buns sighed and crouched until he was at eye level with me.

"Are you okay, kid?" he asked, his monolid eyes heavy with sympathy. It was only then that I realized tears were running down my face, but I didn't dare move my hands to wipe them away.

"I'm fine," I said, muffled. But I felt horribly small, horribly immature in front of that gorgeous guy. He seemed to remember something and pulled out a brightly colored foil noisemaker from where it was tucked into his arm band.

"Hey, look at this." He grinned and then blew on it sharply. The foil unrolled to bop me on the nose and the sound it made was so hilarious that I just burst out into surprised giggles, hands dropping away. I realized my mistake too late; he saw my teeth and his eyes went wide. And now he looked at me different, just like everyone else who saw them. But then something unexpected happened: his expression relaxed. "You can keep it." He placed the noisemaker in my hastily extended hand, and then he was gone along with the rest. I blew on the noisemaker forlornly: the silly whistle it made sounded strange in that dingy living room. I don't know why Cisco was so nervous around the prostitutes. They were usually nicer than Father.

 

###

 

I don't even know why I'm in line at the cafeteria when I'm not even hungry. Functioning on autopilot, I'm just going through the motions in a kind of strange limbo between having to do something and not knowing what that is. I'm surprised that I even overhear the soldiers whispering ahead of me, but then I'm glad I did.

"Can you believe this?" The soldier who spoke looks nervous. "They're going to double the size of the slave program! Three soldiers over in block D already had to sign contracts... And what about that Lorenze guy?" Wait. _Matteo?_

"Keep it down; everyone's heard," his companion hisses. Everyone except for me, apparently. They lower their voices so I have to move closer to hear which puts me - oh god, no - right in front of the salad bar. I pick up the tongs, dreading every second as I move lettuce to my plate, one single leaf at a time. Matteo is lucky I like him so much.

"-He's been missing for _days._ What do you think happened to him? You think it has something to do with the program?"

"Of course. I heard there was an _accident_ over in Black's harem." My blood runs cold.

"Oh god, what if he's dead?" the nervous soldier's voice wavers. "What if this is a cover up? I'm not signing that contract, man."

"Neither am I..." One of them glances at me; I pick up my tray full of lawn clippings and head towards the seating area. Things changed while we were gone. _Because_ we were gone?

The mood in the cafeteria is different. Tense, as if everyone is waiting for a bomb to drop. I find who I'm looking for: Damon, but there's something different about him too. He sits alone at a table, hunched over and picking at what little is on his plate. When he looks up at me, I see deep bags under his eyes. He notices my salad and musters up a barb just for me.

"On a diet?" The half-hearted smirk that accompanies it fades quickly; he just doesn't have the energy. Oh, he's dealing with demons? Well so am I, and he's sitting right in front of me. I slam my hands down on the table so hard that the soldiers nearest to us turn and look.

"Where is he, Damon?" I lean in to demand.

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

"He _is_ my business! What did you do to him?" I start running scenarios in my head, and they all seem like the worst-case. "You were playing one of your sick games and you went too far... You hurt him." My eyes widen in disbelief as his expression turns remorseful. "You _killed_ him. Did you _kill_ him?!"

"I told you to mind your own business!" Damon is on his feet now.

I could fight him; I already feel anger bubbling through my veins, the adrenaline egging me on. _And then what?_ A surprising snippet of forethought sneaks in. Fight him to another draw? Or at least until someone breaks up the fight. As I look around at our agitated audience, I realize: this place isn't an army, it's a _prison_. And I know just how to start a riot.

"You heard him!" I shout, "He killed Matteo. Matteo Lorenze was a slave and he _killed_ him. And now they're doubling the program. Who's next? It could be you." Nervous murmuring ripples through the crowd as I play to their anger and fear. "Are you just going to sit there and wait for them to come for you? Or are you going to _fight back?_ " All around the cafeteria, soldiers are rising from their seats; the clamoring gets louder and louder as violence starts to sound a lot better than being helpless. Damon backs up slowly.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he demands like he's still in charge, but he's backing up in the direction of the exit. His great escape is cut short when he backs right into the chest of another soldier. A hand lands on his shoulder and shoves him hard; Damon sprawls to the floor. He props himself up on his hands. Wild eyes dart between the angry faces converging over him. "Who do you think you're dealing with?" But he sounds scared this time. And he should be.

You'd be surprised how long you can stay conscious while you're being beaten to death. Everyone knew that in prison: if you really want to drag it out, you save the head for last. And the soldiers know it too; because half of them _are_ ex-cons. I can't see all the action from outside the tangle, but I sure can hear it. Even though Damon's screaming is getting louder and more desperate, it's becoming harder to hear under all the angry shouting. I catch glimpses of limbs flailing in agony between their legs, while I just sit back and watch the fun. Why didn't I think of this sooner? Damning accusations rain down on him alongside the actual blows:

"We're not signing your bloody contracts!"

"You think you can just do whatever you want!"

"You're a _monster!_ " A metal tray flashes in the light, held up high. It comes down once, twice, three times. The screaming cuts out abruptly. I sit up in my seat, but the mob is already torrenting toward the doors. Bloodied fingers drag along on the floor. I notice Damon's  sword abandoned on the floor, half out of its sheath when he tried to use it to defend himself.

A statue of my father stands like a giant in the front courtyard. Dust motes spiral by his stone feet as he gazes out at the Forest of Decay like a would-be conqueror. Just then, a thick rope lands around his neck and pulls taut. Damon cries out - oh, he's still _alive?_ \- as the other end tightens around his throat in a noose. Then his arms are caught too, strung over Father's shoulders. Strangling two monsters with one rope. The soldiers haul him up on his feet and part to let me through as I stroll toward Damon, twirling his sword in my grip.

"That's some fine work." I whistle. Damon's beige skin is dotted with deep purple bruises. Blood drips into a steadily growing patch underneath him. When his dark eyes open; one of them is stained dramatically, as if red dye spilled into the white of his eye.

I draw Damon's sword and point it at him. The metal heats up to a glowing orange-red.

"Thank god it's Friday." I grin at him.

"So this is it?" he says, "You get _them_ to do your dirty work and then just execute me? You didn't seem like the type..."

"Oh I'm not going to kill you. Not yet." There are so many fun activities we could do before then... I turn around and meander away, leaving him to stew in his own terror. Sure, I've fantasized about this moment, but I never thought I'd actually _have_ it. And now it's here: Damon tied up and at my mercy, and all those fantasies are rushing back in a giddy stream. My gaze wanders to the building on accident and freezes there. On the other side of the windows on the second floor, I see the generals. They don't lift a finger to stop any of this or save their underling. They're just... _Watching_. I narrow my eyes. I'll give them something to look at.

Whipping around, I swing. Damon shrieks, but I only tear his shirt, leaving a burned black gash in the fabric. I'll admit I'm not being careful as I slice up his clothes, leaving burns that quickly darken to a painful-looking red while he gasps and bites his lip. When I'm done, his clothes fall away from a heaving body scored with angry red marks.

It's almost strange seeing Damon undressed. He has more sex than probably anyone here, but he's always got his clothes on, only fetching his cock through an open fly when he needs it. And now I see why: it makes him look vulnerable. He squirms under the probing of eyes on his bare legs.

"No, no..." he whimpers, struggling. He tries to lock me out by crossing his legs.

"Spread him," I command. Two soldiers get on that and pretty soon, Damon is open wide. Yeah, he's got a nice dick. But this time, I get to check out his tight entrance. "Wow." I stroke it with a finger and he jerks like I just touched him with a hot poker. "Are you a virgin?" He stiffens his lip in a refusal to answer, which is basically the same as answering, except he could've dodged a punishment.

"I asked you a question, slut." I find his sack hanging readily within reach and grab them, squeezing. Now a little ball-squeezing in the heat of the moment is never a bad thing, but you really don't want those puppies being compacted inside a fist the way I'm doing it. Damon responds with another gut-wrenching wail. I hope every general up there can hear him, and just in case they can't, I squeeze harder; twist like I might just pop them off like a twist-off cap. Better safe than sorry.

And Damon is sorry. A sorry mess by the time I release. Involuntary tears streak his face. His handsome black hair is slicked to his forehead with sweat. Damon only looks up again when I let the sword hover level with his throat.

"Do it, then," So why is he trembling all over?

"You don't deserve any better." And why do I feel like I have to justify myself?

"Maybe I don't, but he picked me." And there it is. My heart pumps cold water instead of blood. "He picked me, and he stayed by me. You think you're avenging him or something by killing me, but he _loved_ me."

"Shut up!" I move threateningly; the hot metal is an inch from his skin. Damon lifts his chin defiantly.

"And I loved him! But that's not something you can say, is it?" A surge of anger flashes hot through my veins - it inspires a better idea. I drop the sword, directing the point up at his helpless pucker while I grip the inside of his thigh.

"Looks like your first time is going to be your last," I say darkly. Damon closes his eyes and braces himself while the roaring of the crowd reverberates in my ears; they want this to end in blood.

But I... Stand there, panting. I just burned through the last drop of that anger like fuel, and now there's just intense emptiness in the pit of my stomach. _Damon doesn't know anything_. He's just like me.

It's _them_. The generals behind glass content to let Damon take a brutal disemboweling for their sick scheme.

Damon sprawls out on the ground as the other soldiers boo at me, because I cut his restraints. This time I can't keep the tears from falling. I wipe them irritably with the heels of my palms, "Just tell me he's okay. _Please._ " But he can't even do that as the slimy slave master gets to his feet and runs blindly toward the building, like a wounded animal making one last sprint for freedom.

"Hey!" I shout after him.

Or maybe not blindly. He's crawling back to his master. Damon bursts through the door to Cisco's office.

"Dammit!" he swears: the office is empty.

"Where do you think you're going?" I tackle him to the floor. _Voices._ Just outside the door. I glance around quickly and decide on the closet. I drag a weakened Damon into it with an arm locked over his mouth. The door whispers shut just as the office door slams open.

"This is bad." Cisco. I see him pass in front of the closet through the slats. "They're rebelling. The generals are spooked" And he's not alone. I'm immediately on high-alert when I see Axel follow him into the room, shutting the door smoothly behind him. Even Damon's struggles die down.

"It's because of your pot-stirring little brother," he growls. Cisco whips around, defensive.

"Rayce is doing his job."

"He just incited a _lynch mob._ Against our best slave master."

"The men didn't turn on Damon; they turned on a proxy for _us_. Maybe... What if we're accelerating the program too fast... Yes, yes... Too fast..."  I can already see the cogs in his head turning as Cisco bends to his desk, moving panels on the touch-top.

"Cisco, we've been planning this for months; this is only teething trouble." He looks irritated when he doesn't get an answer and his tone changes in the next instant. "I told you to look at me when I'm talking to you." Axel grabs Cisco by the shoulder and flips him around like a revolving door. Holding him possessively by the elbows, he forces a kiss on my startled brother's lips. Okay, I'm seriously considering coming out of the closet just so I don't have to witness this. It doesn't help when Axel wraps his arms around Cisco and lifts him onto the desk.

"Stop it!" Cisco breaks away and pushes firmly on his chest. "I don't want to right now-" A sharp slap lands across his face and he cuts himself off with a cry of pain. My eyes widen.

"You don't get to tell me no," Axel says, frigid. He seizes Cisco by the jaw, wrenching him back to attention while Cisco hangs weakly on his wrists. "Look at me. You don't get to say no."

"O-Okay..." Red layers of hair bob as he nods slowly.

"Better." Rustling as Axel rolls Cisco's pants away from cream thighs. My brother only makes the tiniest of whimpers when his terrible dom enters him. His toes curl. "Oh Cisco," Breathy noises and rhythmic, wet slapping. I have to look away, and then I have to look back because I can't stop watching.

Is it normal to think your brother looks like a porn star? No. You're right. Definitely not. And yet I'm curious as Cisco sheds clothing like it's suddenly a hundred degrees. He's not that little boy anymore... Still thin, but he buffed up his lanky frame with lean muscles that give his ivory skin much-needed definition. Cisco wraps a leg around his lover's thrusting hips, inviting him deeper. Axel eagerly accepts, grinding right up against him, body to body. Cisco lets out an ardent moan. He arches backward and tosses his fiery red hair, Damon shifts uncomfortably against my hardness through our clothes. He, of all people, doesn't get to judge me...

"We're not changing the plan," Axel is telling Cisco, panting. He misses a beat, squirming.

"But Axel..."

"I said _no!_ " And that's when Axel bares _fangs_. Moments before he buries them in my brother's neck. Damon kicks out abruptly. He breathes hard against my arm, eyes wide; I have to clap a hand down over my own mouth to keep from making a sound.   

"Axel! Axel..." Cisco can't possibly fight both the sex and the feeding. I see his eyes drift shut as his head lolls back. A thin stream of blood escapes Axel's ravenous lips and runs down Cisco's chest.

Axel trades cum for blood and dabs at his lips politely with a handkerchief when he's done. He looks satiated, and much less annoyed, but he left Cisco completely spent. I've never seen my brother look that tired in his _life_. And he went to military school.

"So what are you going to say to the generals?" Axel prompts softly.

"We are proceeding with the plan," Cisco monotones.

"And to the men?"

"Any insubordination will be dealt with severely."

"Good. See? That wasn't complicated." Axel pats his cheek patronizingly. "Now get dressed. And clean yourself up; you're making a mess."

"Yes." Cisco goes through the motion like clockwork. He drags a paper towel from a nice dispenser on his desk and holds it to the bite marks until they stop weeping. He covers up with a collared coat. You'd think he was just masking hickeys. Cisco slips a hand into Axel's and they stroll out of the office together as if nothing ever happened.

 _Axel is a vampire._ Well now working with Vex seems downright quaint. Damon and I disentangle breathing hard. Neither of us says anything for a long time.

"They took him." Damon says so low that I barely hear him.

"What?"

"They took Matteo, I don't know where but I think they _sold_ him..." He pauses to gather himself. "I don't know what to do, Gunner..." He's at his wit's end, and it's a good thing he met me there because we're the two halves of this puzzle.

"I know where they took him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damon got that plot armor like-


	16. Five Ways to Disappear

"You didn't have to come with me," I tell Damon, because it would mean he actually cares about Matteo and I'd hate to have to admit that or anything... He doesn't answer, peering around the corner of the building to scan the deserted street.

"Coast is clear," he reports. We advance another couple of streets, moving quickly and quietly. The fog swirls around our running feet. We duck behind the next corner just in time as a patrol walks by.

Damon's dark eyes follow the guards until they vanish in the fog again. "A blood farm?" He repeats.

I nod slowly. "If they really did decide to sell Matteo, they brought him here." This is where they send people to disappear...

Right on schedule: an imposing black airship looms from the fog in town center. Damon's eyes widen at the sight, then drop to today's line of prisoners filing inside.

"So this is what you've been planning..." he says under his breath, angry. I flinch at that; when even demons are telling you you've gone too far, maybe they have a point. But then I remember: _'You can't hold yourself responsible for what your family did.'_

"Cisco," I say abruptly. Damon glances this way. "Cisco fucked up. But I'm going to make it right."

He cracks a tiny smile. "You're definitely a Gunner." And I almost think it was compliment until he adds, "A delusional optimist. So what's the plan, _Commander?_ " he asks mockingly.  

Wordlessly, I cast a glance back at town square, trying to find a way in. There's no sign of that vampire this time... He must be inside. _With Matteo?_ The thought makes my hair rise in dread.

"Too many eyes," I say as I count up the guards. "We need a distraction."

Damon sighs. "Looks like I'm up."

"You?" My eyes dart quickly over his injuries. Then he turns around and reveals more of them when he peels his shirt off over his head. I watch toned shoulder blades glide under bruised skin. He catches me looking over his shoulder.

"I dunno," he says quietly, "You always seemed to find me distracting." His pants drop. He looks the part of an escaped product...

"Wait," I hesitate. "What if they catch you? I don't think this is a good idea."

"Don't." Damon suddenly spins around. " _Don't_ think about me. You just focus on getting Matteo out of here." He narrows his eyes. "He deserves better than me. He deserves better than both of us."

"He..." I trail off because Damon is right. There's a sudden flash of fear in his eyes; he digs his fingers in his black hair.  

"I'm not an idiot. Dad would say this is completely _meshuggeneh_ -" He abruptly shuts up while I raise an eyebrow at the really, really _specific_ word.

"You're... Jewish?"

"Yeah, _and?_ " He bristles, expression like he regrets letting that slip.

"And _nothing_ ," I say defensively. It's just... It's weird to learn unexpected, nonsexual things about Damon. It almost makes him seem _human_. I cross my arms, and ask, uncertain, "Do you think I'm racist or something? I mean, I'm military, but I'm not-"

"No, and shut up about it, would you?" He groans, exasperated. "I don't think you're racist. You'll think it's _cute_ ," Damon's tone is accusatory.

"Oh?" Both eyebrows raised this time; a smile tugs at my lips. I won't say much, because he's doing a great job of digging himself into a hole...

"And then you'll fetishize it, like you do with everyone else."

"I don't do that..." I drop my gaze to his nose, trying to see it. Damon brings up a hand to cover the lower half of his face.

"You're doing it right now!" His eyes look indignant. He takes a deep breath and when he drops his hand, there's the beginnings of an amused smile on his face. "Get Matteo out of here." Damon reiterates and before I can say another word, he spins around and streaks into view of the guards before luring them away from town center. While the guards are distracted, I curve behind their backs right up to the open maw of the aircraft. The spinning rotor blades whip my hair and my nerves are hanging on by their fingernails. I don't have to time to think about it: Matteo's in there, and that means I have to go. I duck inside.

But this is not the eldritch-body-horror blood dungeon I was anticipating... I'm starting to think I got the wrong airship! Where are the bloodstains all over the walls, and the entrails hanging from meat hooks? Whole eyeballs in a take a penny, leave a penny bowl? Hell, I might be better at designing blood cellars than the vamps... The inside is nothing like I imagined the first time I laid eyes on that daunting silhouette under the cover of fog. It looks nice _._ A little _too_ nice.

The classy white interior reminds me of five star hotels and luxury department stores: the kinds of places I could technically afford, but always made me feel out of place anyway. A crystal chandelier hangs from the high-vaulted roof and soft piano music plays somewhere.

The distant sound of steady impacts interrupts it. Well that's as good a place to start as any... As I close in on the sound, it becomes more distinctive. A bat hitting a ball. _Baseball?_ I follow the noise through a sliding door.

This must be the airship bridge. Huge windows map the curved nose of the airship, filling my vision with a wall-to-wall view of the outside, which would be way more impressive if we were in the air, but right now, all I see is the dingy, foggy town.  

"Wow, what a shot by Mickie 'Medieval' Mayweather!" Laughter sets me on edge. I drop quickly behind the safety of a control panel and peek around the edge. There's a batting cage in the middle of the bridge and inside it stands the vampire from earlier. _Mayweather._ Wielding a gleaming aluminum bat, he's playing the pitching machine and commentating his own imaginary game. "And the crowd goes wild! Did you see that one, dollface?" My heart pounds; I follow his gaze to Matteo.

"Yes, Master." Matteo sits on a bird perch, dressed in the black lingerie outfit that Axel so carefully designed for him: the same one he wore _that_ night. It kills me to see him like this, because I know what that outfit means for him. But he's alive, and that's something _._

The vampire steps out of the cage, mopping his brow with a towel. Tossing it over a shoulder, he approaches Matteo's perch. I notice a thin, flexible tube wrapped around the crossbar and attached to a spigot on one end. The tube flushes red as Mayweather twists the spigot to give his squeeze bottle a top-up. He's tapping Matteo like a keg, and the blood drains from my face too.

Cranking it off, Mayweather regards Matteo with an amused expression.

"Hey perk up, doll. How about dinner and a show?"

"Whatever my master desires," Matteo says quietly. The bird perch doubles as a stripper pole. He drops from the crossbar and hooks onto the pole, spinning around it like a dancer as he lowers himself. Matteo struts around it with a hand on his hip. Mayweather drops his gaze to that ass swaying from side to side as he chugs. _Oh._ I never understood what Axel meant when he called himself a designer until just now, watching Matteo work that pole. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's _horrible_ , but in just the right ways...

I don't even know how he still has the strength to lock his thighs around the pole and arch, stretching a hand to the sky beyond the glass, even though he could never fly away with the clipped costume wings on his back. Matteo pulls sharply back into the pole, holding it close like a lover as he drops slowly again. His feet touch the floor and keep going; spreading into a perfect split. Ocean eyes blink open to glare at Mayweather. But then again, I knew that: I knew Matteo was strong.

A long, low whistle. "Not bad. Maybe tonight, you can do _that_ on my dick." Mayweather lets out a crass bark of laughter as he touches Matteo's chin and tilts it up to face him. Matteo pulls away wordlessly, staring at the floor instead. Think he'd do it on _my_ dick, maybe? "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was defiance." Mayweather muses, "But I was assured that you were trained well. The _best._ " The vampire suddenly lashes out, seizing Matteo by the throat. My heart leaps into mine in an instant. Matteo chokes on his grip.

"But if you _do_ have any fantasies about disobeying me still rattling around in that empty skull of yours, I suggest you forget about them. You belong to me now, and from now on, I'm all you think about. I'm all you care about; everything you _are_ , anything you'll ever be _._ And if that ever changes..." He brings Matteo's face close to his and bares sharp fangs in a threat. "Then I'll just get a new one. Understand? _Doll?_ "

Matteo cowers. "Yes, _Master_... Please..." Mayweather's face breaks abruptly into a grin.

"Aces!" And he drops Matteo gasping for air on the floor. "Then let's skedaddle on out of here. This place is such a drag..." When he moves to the airship's main control panel, I have my chance.

Stealing forward from my hiding place, I grab Matteo by the shoulders and clamp a hand over his mouth before he makes a sound. His eyes widen in shock.

"Rayce, you came for me," he breathes, excited, when I release him. _And so did Damon..._ But maybe I'll tell him that once I'm done basking in the glory.

"Don't thank me just yet," I whisper. I tug on his wrist, but he resists.

"Wait!" He grips the tube. Oh, right, that needs to come out... But it doesn't connect to his wrist. I follow the tube with growing horror until my eyes rest on his chest. Under the demure lace of his outfit, the catheter is plugged into a permanent port just beneath his collarbone, embedded _under_ Matteo's skin. The round shape of the port protrudes like a strange, alien parasite from his skin. My own rises in goosebumps. _There's_ the body-horror-blood-dungeon.

"Oh my god... What did they _do_ to you? How do I get it out?" Desperate, I pass the tube back and forth between my hands, but the other end is a dead end too: it connects to the spigot on the perch. He's literally _built into_ this furniture. _Get it out._ I have to get it out of him!

I make as if to rip out the tube, but Matteo stops me with a small cry. "I'll bleed out!"

"Well what do we have here?" Mayweather's voice makes both of us freeze. "A couple of homosexuals on my bridge. You know what they used to do with folks like you back in the day?" He grins unpleasantly. I wrap my arms tightly around Matteo and glare up at him.

"You're living in the past, Mayweather," I growl.

"Please," He raises a hand, laughing. "Mayweather is so formal... They call me Mickie Medieval, kid. Mick, Triple M, M3; pick a name, any name! I've got as many as I have lives." His aluminum bat flashes silver as he hefts it easily over his shoulder and winks like a charming pro athlete from yesteryear in his letterman jacket. "And I got plenty of those too." I let go of Matteo - just for now - to lure Mickie away from him.

"I know, I know. You're wondering where a hip cat like me got the name 'Medieval'." He pushes the end of his bat and metal spikes protrude from the thick hitting end, turning the slugger into an honest-to-god _mace_. Mickie grins at my dropped jaw. "Still wondering?"

I duck his first swing, but the spikes graze the top of my hair and the blistering wake draws a gasp from my throat. Okay, he bats like a major league baseball player jacked up on aether red! And I bet he's had centuries to work on his game...

I hear Matteo screaming my name, "Rayce!" Mickie smashes a control panel; it explodes into sparks but he doesn't seem bothered by the potential repercussions. He follows me with bright red eyes.

"Rayce? Rayce _Gunner?_ Now there's a name..."

"I thought you'd like it. Hey Medieval, I want you to meet a friend of mine." Panting, I draw my baton and electrify it. "Thomas Edison."

"Now we're talking!" His face splits into a grin. Mickie and I dodge back and forth, but neither of us can land a shot - which makes sense because if he did, it would be _over_... Letting out a growl of frustration, I put extra distance between us and elongate my baton into a charged whip.

Mickie deflects it with his bat. "Well aren't you full of surprises..." He backs up warily.

"I'm not the only one." _Now._ It's as if Matteo heard me telepathically. He lunges forward, winding a length of tube tightly around Mickie's neck. The vampire coughs, clutching at it as Matteo drags him back against the pole, pinning him in place.

"Now, Rayce!" We've got him! I swing, and my whip wraps around him - once, twice, and a half - strapping him to the pole. _Game over -_ I give him the strongest electric shock my baton can muster. Blinding white flashes of light; Mickie _howls_.

I lower my hand held, blinking away dark spots in my vision as the smell of singed clothing fills my lungs. The vamp's head hangs forward, blonde hair dangling limp before his face. But my smile fades when I realize he's still moving. Mickie's shoulders rise and fall with mirth. He shakes his head sharply in an impressed kind of way.

"Wowsers! What a shindig!" Then he flexes. My baton groans in agony. _Wait-_ I grip the handle with both hands, but before I can do anything, I hear a calamitous _SNAP-_ and I just freeze as the shattered pieces of my baton clatter to the floor.

" _NO!_ " On the floor on my knees, I try to gather them all towards me... "No, no, no," Not her! Anything but that!

"Watch out!" I look up just in time to see Mickie's malevolent red eyes, then his bat. Okay, but maybe not _that_.

My breath leaves me in a huge, lung-evacuating gasp as I hit the floor hard. Hand hovering over the spiked bat embedded in my side as deep red spreads over the fabric of my shirt. I open my mouth to speak - or at least make a _sound_ \- but nothing comes out. Dizzy vision finds Mickie walking calmly over to a shrieking Matteo. The vamp grabs the tube and casually tears it from the spigot. It leaps against the floor like a garden hose, gushing wasted blood over pristine white tiles. Mickie walks right by a crumpling Matteo to the control panel.

Matteo drags himself to me, determined, and draws my head into his lap.

"Ma...tteo..." I mumble through heavy lips. He takes my shaking hand and holds it to his cheek, rubbing the back with a thumb. I have to... Have to tell him. "I... I... l-"

"You don't have to say it," he whispers, turning slightly to kiss my palm. "I already know." Relief washes over me; it even numbs the agony that my side is broadcasting to my entire body for just a few moments. "Besides," A sad little twinkle plays on his face. "It would be kinda corny to say it now." That makes me laugh, which turns into coughing. By the time I recover, Matteo looks strangely sleepy.

"Matteo? Hey," I call out, worried. His eyes drift shut. " _Matteo-_ " More urgently this time. I shake him, but it's as if I broke him; the batting cage jingles softly as he slumps against it. _The catheter-_ I remember in my idiotic stupor and fumble for it. The stream of blood is thinner now. I try to cut it off completely by pinching the tube closed but even that doesn't stop all the bleeding. My hands are getting slippery. Fingers stained red, but I still can't stop the bleeding.

"Course set for Sanguine. Home sweet home, here we come." Mickie is returning. His sneakers pace soundlessly around the growing puddle of blood. I cry out in pain when he dislodges the bat from my side, leaving an injury that looks like something with jagged teeth tore a bite out of me and then decided it didn't like the taste, leaving me to bleed out instead. The vamp closes his eyes beatifically as he takes a deep breath. "Mmmm, that smells _amazing._ I had no idea the farm was having a two-for-one sale! What a bargain!" Mickie raises the bat over his head, smile growing with sadistic intent. I wrap my arms around an unconscious Matteo, squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact.

It doesn't arrive. Instead, I hear a gasp. My eyes shoot open; a white-hot blade is impaled through Mickie's middle.

"Damon!" Damon wastes no time unloading the vampire into the batting cage. Slamming the door, he quickly drives his sword through the handles and pressures the sword handle until the metal, weakened by extreme heat, bends securely around them, gritting his teeth with the effort. Damon breaks off the heating elements so his work can't be undone.

Mickie recovers a second too late. He flies to the doors and jangles them aggressively but they won't budge. He settles for glaring at Damon bent over and panting hard at the floor.

"Blast, _more_ humans?" he complains, "We've slaughtered so many; how are there more than _five_ of you at this point?"

"What can I say?" Damon lets out an exhausted, humorless laugh. "We're really good at fucking." Then he notices us on the floor and his expression turns horrified. Damon reaches for Matteo's port and, before I can stop him, yanks out the other end of the tube. I expect a geyser of blood to erupt from Matteo's chest- but the port seals itself. That doesn't make the raised lump under his skin any less freakish, but at least it's designed to keep the blood _inside_ his body. Cold relief settles in my stomach. "Typical Gunner. Can't get anything done right," says Damon.

"Help me up, asshole," I growl.

Damon and I support Matteo between us as we climb to an unsteady equilibrium.

"We're going to get out of here," Damon breathes, but he sounds nervous.

"Good luck with that," Mickie taunts, casually looping his arms through the chain links. I set my mouth in determination and repeat after Damon.

"We _are_ going to get out of here." Small, shambling steps, but they're real steps in the right direction. Damon reaches across and presses a hand to my wound while I wince.

"Keep pressure, idiot," he tells me.

"Is that you worried about me?" I cannot believe the irony right now, smiling helplessly.

"Just... Just hold it together long enough to find help for Matteo."

Mickie calls after us, "I don't know where you think you're going. I have a meeting with your commander in about a week."

My blood runs cold. It also might just be running _out_.

 

###

 

The muggy atmosphere of Decay compresses me with its oppressive humidity. "Break! Break..." I have to call for one, reeling as I catch my breath. I have a hand pressed to my injuries, but I'm not sure how much good it's doing. There are dark bloodstains everywhere I look, even on my jeans. Damon stops, looking around nervously.

"We can't stop here, Gunner." We hear rustling in the foliage. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Way to go, you fucking jinxed it."

"Stay back!" Damon shouts an empty threat at our invisible attacker. We don't even have weapons to defend ourselves... Dappled blue humanoids emerge from the leaves holding spears and relief washes over me.

"Of course. Man-eating smurfs, why not?" says Damon sarcastically.

I smirk at him and correct: " _Naiads_. And relax, they're friendly." At least, I'm pretty sure they are... If saving an entire species from an evil dictator isn't enough to earn a little gratitude around here, then stick a spear in me and call me Caesar. A familiar face pushes to the front of the throng.

"Daphne!"

"Rayce Gunner? You're back!" Her big-eyed gaze darts quickly from my injury to Matteo and then Damon. "And hurt..." She turns to the others. "They require tending to! _Now!_ " The naiads scramble.

They lead us back to a primitive encampment perched at the edge of a broad river. The naiads escort Matteo to a hut made of leaves with a concerned Damon in tow, while Daphne personally tends to my injury in peace on the river bank. Turning to the water, I watch naiads zip through the river and do dolphin jumps over sparkling surf as Daphne carefully packs my side with a soothing paste of herbs and leaves. 

"So how's the whole talking thing working out for you guys? You look happy," I comment. But anything's better than living in a radioactive crater under the noodle queen, I guess.

"Ever since you slayed Undine, my people were free to return to our ancestral homes: the rivers and lakes of Decay. It's all thanks to you," Daphne explains That puffs me up a little bit. "With a little help...." she adds more quietly. I smile at her.

"How's Junior?"

"Merrick," she corrects. Daphne reaches into the baby sling over her back and brings the kiddo out for me to see.

"Theeeere he is!" I take Merrick and hold up the little blue boy blob. He already looks like a chubby, happy baby, and that makes me feel... _Proud?_ "Guess who hasn't been crushed to a bloody pulp? _You!_ No you haven't!" I speak in baby talk. Merrick's big, black eyes are obscenely adorable, the same color as the messy tuft of hair on his head like water weeds. The naiad baby burbles nonsensically and tries to fit his whole foot in his mouth. "He's so talented." I grin at Daphne who laughs into her hand, watching us fondly with a twinkle in her eye. I clear my throat and hand him back. "Babies are usually not my thing," I feel like I should clear that up. "But yours is pretty neat, I guess. As far as babies go."

"Thank you. I do tend to make neat babies." She smiles knowingly. "Come." Daphne rises, tucking Merrick in his sling. "Let's check on your friends in the medicine tent."

We duck into a leaf tent that smells strongly of earthy, herby medicine and incense. My gaze travels immediately to Matteo lying unconscious on a bed of leaves while naiads hover over him. Damon sits cross-legged by his fiance's side, twiddling his thumbs. He looks up when he hears us come through the flap.

"The smurfs say he's going to be okay. Whatever that means." He looks distrustfully at the pastes and potions piled at Matteo's bedside. I know it doesn't look like the medicine we're used to - and hey, I'm not completely sold either - but it's the best we got. And the injury in my side feels good enough now that I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.  

"What is a 'smurf'?" Daphne asks.

I ignore her and say to Damon, "Matteo has to stay here with the naiads."

" _What?_ " Damon erupts. "Are you out of your _mind?_ We can't just leave him here with a bunch of half-naked fish people you found in the Forests of Decay! How do you know they won't _eat_ him if they get hungry?!"

"I'm... Standing right here..." Daphne mumbles.

"You heard Mayweather!" I argue, "He's working with the army; this runs too deep. If we just take Matteo back to HQ, what do you think they're going to do to a disobedient slave who bucked the program and embarrassed them in front of their best customer?"

Damon still looks angry, but he lowers his gaze slightly. "I don't like it," he hisses.

"Neither do I, but I'm not sure we have a choice."

We hear leaves rustling and drop everything to kneel at Matteo's side. He's coming to. Matteo blinks slowly. His eyes land on the naiad healer first and then widen, startled. He tries to sit upright but he isn't strong enough yet, crying out in pain.

"Matteo, easy." My hand on his shoulder gets his attention. "They're friends. You're safe here."

" _Rayce!_ " He throws his arms around me, fingers digging into my back. He allows me to lower him gently back on the bedding. Over his shoulder, I get a load of Damon's expression. It's.. Well, let's call it _mixed._

I explain everything to Matteo while he sits propped up against a rock, staring at the ceiling with a creased brow.

Damon reaches out to stroke his hair. "But I promise, as soon as it's safe to come get you-" Matteo abruptly pulls away; Damon freezes. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Damon," he says, composed, "Be quiet for a second and listen to me. I have always known what I am: a stripper and a prostitute. You said it yourself; I'm a _cheater_. I'm no stranger to selling my body, and I've never been ashamed of my choices..." A memory of terror flits across his face. "But when they took me, they weren't just selling my body. They were selling _me._ Everything I am, everything I was, everything I want to be - _sold_ , just like that, to the highest bidder. And that's when I realized... It was so easy to sell me like I was nothing, because I _am_ nothing. I'm _no one_ when I'm with you."

Damon looks at him in disbelief. "What is this, Matteo?" he dares to ask.

Matteo squeezes his eyes shut. "The whole time I was there, I was praying I'd get to see you again, Damon. One last time; even for just a moment." Matteo extends his hand to his fiance- their diamond engagement ring rests in his palm. "So I could give this back to you."

My eyes are wide as I look between them. Damon looks lost as he mechanically accepts the ring. He knew Matteo deserved better, but never thought he would actually catch on... Then Damon looks angry. That's my cue. I stand up at the same time as him and place a hand flat on his chest, holding him firmly back.

"Don't make me." I don't even have to finish my threat when Damon spins around and storms from the tent. I turn back to Matteo, awkward now.

"So you... Broke up with him," I recap like the worst play-by-play announcer in the world. Matteo buries his face in a hand.

"I can't believe it took being sold to a vampire for me to figure out what I'm worth... What was I _doing?_ " He looks up when I crouch on my haunches next to him and take his hand gently.

"Growing," I say simply. Matteo's expression is a little grateful, but still mostly sad.

"Be careful," he says, "Now they know."

"Don't worry about me," I lean in, but Matteo turns away fluidly, so casual that if I didn't know any better, I would have thought he didn't even notice me angling for a kiss. I blink down at my empty grip when he takes his hand back too and rests it neatly in his lap.

"I don't understand..." I look at him, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Take care of yourself, Gunner." His curtness is scathing. I leave the tent because I feel unwelcome all of a sudden, casting a glance at Matteo over my shoulder as I go. He stares at a pot boiling over the fire and absentmindedly touches the raised port on his chest. _I don't get it._

There's no sign of Damon, so his storm must have carried him much further than the awkward, chilling breeze that blew me out here. Daphne joins me. I see her struggling between curiosity and politeness.

"Who is he to you?"

"Nobody," I say quietly, "Can you take care of him for me?" Daphne's eyes are full of questions, but she know better than to ask any of them.

"You saved my people, Rayce... And my _son_. The least I can do is look after your 'nobody'."

"Thank you." I sigh heavily. Turning toward Daphne, I clasp her small blue hand. I wish... That when I looked at her, the only thing I saw was the one decent thing I've done since I got here. But it's almost completely overshadowed by the memory of her trembling and terrified underneath me while her starving kid slept a few feet away... _Man_ does that sound really bad when I say it out loud. I have to try. "Do you... Do you forgive me?" I try to meet her eyes but the naiad woman lowers her gaze.

"I think... That gratitude and forgiveness are different things."

My eyes widen at that. I let her go.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately.

"No, no," I shake my head. "I'm actually... Really glad you told me that."  

 

Damon went on without me so I have to return to HQ alone. The building is quiet and dark: sleeping hours. At least now I know why they keep it so dark... The door to my room slides open, but my bubbly blonde slave isn't the one who greets me.

"-and who was it again? Rayce Gunner, you say? Thank you, I'll make a note of that. You know I _always_ appreciate your feedback, Mick." As soon as Axel hangs up, he curses under his breath: "Colony trash..."

He turns to me cheerfully. "Ah, Rayce! There you are. You really stuffed it up this time, didn't you?" I lift my chin, defiant.

"It's over, Axel. Everyone is going to find out what you did. What you _are_."

"Oh, enough already! Enough, enough, enough with that _ridiculous_ name! With these silly pretenses!" Axel raves, and usually he makes a token effort at reining in his temper, but his eyes are wide and wild now. " _Alexander!_ " he shouts, then vacillates rapidly into a chilling hiss. "My name is Sir Alexander Hemscroft." His lips twist into a nasty grin even as I back away slowly. "But you will be referring to me as _master._ "

An impact from behind. It feels as if the back of my head just _exploded._ I fall forward. Always watch your back - you _always_ watch your back! Axel - Alexander? - steps into my blackening field of vision, looking down at me with dagger eyes.

"And to think. I was afraid you wouldn't fuck up badly enough for me to get to ruin your life."

 

###

 

 _Hot_ . It was too hot that summer day and the air conditioning was busted. I stared lazily up at the ceiling, my head in Cisco's lap as we sat together on the couch. He didn't have a great lap as far as laps go: so skinny that his bones dug uncomfortably into my spine. I stared up at the ceiling, past the outline of his chin. Irritably, I dragged up the hem of my sleeveless top to reveal an almond-toned belly. I didn't even want to wear it, and on a day like this, I _definitely_ didn't want to wear those awful, itchy contacts. So I went without them, eyes ruby red and fangs out because they sat more comfortably in my mouth that way. Father was going to be home late anyway; he wouldn't be around to yell at me. I cast a glance at the TV. A cartoon; something mindlessly colorful and upbeat. Cisco watched a lot of those, even when Father _wasn't_ around. I always thought it was a waste, especially when we could use Father's credit card details - that I had committed to memory, thank you very much - to order pay per view porn and on-demand wrestling. But no. My brother liked cartoons.  

I yawned loudly; Cisco slipped a finger between my lips before they closed to toy absentmindedly with the point of my fang. One of his _many_ fidgeting mechanisms. I just let him because it made me feel normal. He didn't look at me differently for my odd eyes or sharp teeth. With Cisco, I could just... I could just _be_. Drowsiness washed over me in waves.

 

###

 

"Cisco?" I mumble. Dazed blinking and my head throbs. _Pink_ . The air is pink here. I try to lift my head but it counterbalances. My cheek hits a glass surface. A table. Metal buckles on leather restraints clink when my hand brushes one. _The_ table. My own incredulous face blinks back at me from the reflection in the tinted black glass. Then I see past it to the shapes on the second tier underneath: multicolored latex, rubber and plastic all veiled in grey.

"What's going on here?!" I demand, rearing up on my hands and knees. The lieutenants gathered around the table take a collective step back. So that Gunner name has a little juice left.

"Oh, welcome back." Alexander is unfazed. He strokes his chin distractedly as he sizes me up. "It was a bit of a rush job, but not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Simple and effective is always in style." I realize what he's talking about when I look down at myself and the first thing I notice is too much of my own skin. Don't designers have to actually design, ya know, _clothes?_ But I'm topless, wearing only a tight, hunter green thong that clings to every detail of my package, and camouflage canvas military boots.

An instinct kicks in: _run._ But I don't even get off the table when the lieutenants hold me back, wrestling me down to the glass. It really is me vs. every officer worth a damn in Fade this time! Only this time, I fucking fight back.

"Let _go_ of me!" I scream, thrashing. "When Cisco finds out about this-" I catch someone in the jaw with a vicious kick; a punch lands I don't even know where, but the resulting cry of pain revs me up.

Alexander walks around to the front of the table, hands clasped behind his back as he looks down at me austerely. "We can do this the hard way or the _much faster_ way, Gunner." He places a piece of paper down in front of me. I quieten down a little, panting, because that's not just any document. A slave contract, but the dotted line at the bottom is blank. A pen lies innocently beside it.

"Do us all a favor and get it over with," he says. I abruptly get my arms back, catching myself on all fours. The pen cap pops. Alexander takes the contract before I'm even done; I see his brow set in an unamused line and grin.

"Very mature," he says sardonically, tearing the contract in two. The halves float to the ground - one says 'FUCK' and the other says 'YOU'. Some of my finest work! "I had a feeling you would be difficult, but you aren't the first slave I've had to beat a signature out of."

"Do your worst!" I rail at him. "You'll have to kill me." Alexander says nothing, but he smiles unpleasantly. He snaps his fingers at a guard standing against the wall. The guard wears the black uniform of the farm guards. At Alexander's signal, he briefly steps out of the room and destroys my strategy on the way back when he literally drags Finn into this by the arm.

"Who said you were the one getting the beating?" Alexander taunts as the guard lays a menacing hand clad in black on Finn's shoulder. He looks so small and frightened in the guard's shadow.

"Rayce? Wh-What's happening? Why are you dressed like that?" The way he says my name breaks my heart. Then he screams when the guard grabs him roughly by the hair and wrenches his head back.

" _F_ _inn!_ " I strain desperately against my captors and get no closer to him.

"Rayce, I'm scared..."

"It's going to be okay!" I assure him, desperate, "You're going to be fine, Finn..." But my voice breaks midway- how can I keep a promise like that? I turn to Alexander. "Let him go! He has nothing to do with this." If there was one person here who didn't deserve to get dragged into this... But Alexander just grins because he got exactly what he wanted: _leverage_. He places another blank contract on the table in front of me, because he knows me well enough to bring extras.

"Sign it, Gunner." His one impossible condition, but it seems a lot less impossible now as I look from the contract to Finn and back. I know... I know how to keep that promise now.

"Don't sign it, Rayce." Finn's quiet voice halts the point of my pen just short of paper.

Alexander snaps his fingers at the guard again. The next snap comes from the guard's leather belt against the floor, then he tears Finn's shirt off and pushes him down in the same movement.     

"Wait!" I shout, but that doesn't stop the belt from landing across Finn's back. Screams interspersed with the sound of leather striking flesh. The strap leaves cruel marks up and down Finn's back. " _Stop it!_ Stop, stop, I'm signing it! I'm doing what you want!" I beg. The beating pauses, but Finn is still screaming,

" _NO!_ " Every vertebra of his spine, every ridge of his ribcage pokes at the pale canvas of skin, shuddering, but his voice is stronger than his frail, battered body. Blonde curls toss vigorously as he shakes his head. "Don't sign that contract! You're Rayce Gunner, you should _never_ sign that contract!"

"Oh for the love of god." Alexander looks exasperated, rolling his eyes.

"Don't you dare take His name in vain. Nothing you do is by the grace of God..." Finn whispers low, "May you find salvation someday." Alexander smiles wryly.

"Really? You think there's salvation for a centuries-old sinner like me?"

Finn says with conviction, "No one is beyond redemption." Then he looks at me.

The guard wrenches the exhausted choir boy up on his feet. I see the belt go around Finn's neck: one loop, two.

"Please," I plead. Green eyes drift shut as Finn braces himself.

Choking: the sound of a crushed airpipe literally sucking scraps of air into shrivelled lungs while coughing it up at the same time: that's the most awful sound I've ever heard.

"All of this could stop right now." Alexander's reminder trickles in my ear like ice water. I go straight for the contract. The sheer white of the paper burns my vision as if trying to dissuade me, but I find the dotted line and, with a trembling hand, scribble down my name. The sight of my name on that contract seals the deal. 'Rayce Gunner.'

"There," I say raggedly, "It's done." The guard releases pressure on Finn, who wheezes as he catches his breath. Alexander just lights up. He snatches the contract then nods at the guard. An arm clad in black crosses over Finn's head to grip his small jaw, then wrenches it up and sharply to a side. CRACK. My eyes go wide. I changed my mind. _That's_ the most awful sound I've ever heard.

Finn falls from cruel arms like an angel tumbling from grace. I watch it happen, it seems, from outside my own body. His thin frame hits the floor almost soundlessly. I stare into his green eyes, but they're dull and glassy, like stained glass church windows after the lights inside have all gone out. _Empty._

When I find myself again, I realize I'm screaming. But I don't know when I started or when - or _if -_ I plan to stop. Turns out it really isn't up to me when sobbing takes over. And somewhere in between it all, I see Alexander mulling over my contract.

" _Why?_ " Is all I have the strength to say through the tears. He shrugs without even looking at me.

"I didn't really need him anymore." His eyes, unabashedly red now, flick to meet mine. "But I do need you, Gunner. And I am going to break you with whatever means necessary. _He_ was step one."

The elevator doors open to reveal a silhouette, as if it's here for Finn. But that's no angel.

"Cisco!" I gasp out.

"Late as usual, lover," says Alexander. Cisco doesn't answer. Our eyes are locked as he walks slowly up to the table and around it, but I can't read any expressions on his face.

"It's not too late, Cisco," I say quietly. He drops his gaze to my scantily clad crotch and then cocks an eyebrow slightly as if to say, 'really?' my face goes warm, but I tighten my jaw and continue, "I met Vex-"

"Not _Vex_ again." Alexander groans. "So he's the one who's been filling your head with treason."

"No, that would be _you!_ " I snap.

"You met Vex..." Cisco intones, momentarily distant. I plead with him, "We have options. There are other ways..."

"Those options aren't viable." He's already made up his mind.

"And you think this one _is?_ " I say desperately. "This is just slavery," I jerk my chin at Alexander. "That he sold to you as _peace_." That might have been a mistake when his expression changes. Clouds gather in his eyes. A storm is brewing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you want to play soldier now?" He leans over me. "Well, where were you all this time?"

 _Clack!_ The kiss of cold metal around my wrists, cuffed behind my back. I stare at my brother, horrified. Then I connect harshly with the tabletop as Cisco shoves me. The handcuffs bite into my back; hands arrive to hold me down. I writhe on the table.

"Wh-What do you-"

"You know damn well what I mean!" His shouting makes me flinch. "You have never once stood for anything in your life and you want to start _now?_ "

My legs snap together instinctively, hiding as much of myself as possible. "So you're just going to throw me away like human garbage? You won't even give me a _chance?_ "  

"I gave you a chance. I gave you _so many chances_." His hands land on my knees, forcing them slowly apart.

"C-Cisco!" He can't - ! My resistance just makes him mad as contempt curls his lips.

"But you just dragged the family name through the mud every chance you got..."

" _Father's_ name." I snarl.

He rages, " _My_ name!" A burst of strength; he pries me apart like a book and now I'm lying exposed with a table of contents etched on my red hot face. His dangerous gaze races over my bare skin and falls to the thong. I see shadows of terrible ideas flitting behind his eyes. "It hasn't exactly been easy, being related to you, Rayce."

Then there's a bottle of beer in his hand. It hisses ominously as someone opens it for him.

"What are you - AUUGH!" My back arches in protest as tears jab at my eyes. Cisco uses the neck of the bottle lodged in my helplessly spasming hole like a lever to tilt my abdomen upwards. "Stop!" I choke out. My eyes dart in horror to the receding level of alcohol in the tinted bottle lapping at its walls as unfamiliar coldness sloshes against mine. "I'm the one who went to military school, just like Father wanted," he says bitterly, "And you went to _strip clubs_. Out every night with your moron friends... Bars, casinos, brothels... And that was you on a good night." My heart sinks to the floor of my chest. He makes me take every last drop before he pulls it out, the ribbed mouth clipping my ring. He gives me no time to recover; I stare despairingly at the second bottle already open. My gut contracts painfully.  

"Filthy, _worthless_ drunk," Cisco snarls over my whimpering and shoves the bottleneck painfully deeper. The fizzing is almost as unbearable as the feeling of my channels drowning slowly. I bite my lip as my stomach groans in complaint. And the swelling... Oh God...

Overfilled with weakly fizzing liquid, my toes curl and uncurl uncomfortably. Can human beings spring leaks? Or do they just die? Or do they spring leaks, _then_ die? These are the burning questions, people. Guess we'll never know as Cisco plugs me with his thumb.

"You were a disappointment to him, you know," he hisses as if that might hurt me.

"Gee, that makes me feel awful. Just _awful_ ," I say sarcastically. "What do you want me to say, Cisco? That you're right? That I'm the worst and you're _perfect?_ Well it's all true." I glance pointedly at his thumb stopping up my reeling insides. "But does it even matter now?" His brow knits angrily.

"What do you think perfect means? What do you think it means to _make_ someone perfect; to do that to a _child?_ Think about it, Rayce." I set my mouth in a grim line. "You were never the son he wanted," Cisco says coldly, "And he took it out on _ME!_ " Then he pulls out and my insides abandon ship.

The humiliation is the worst. Pain, psh, fine, whatever; I've felt worse. But the laughing and the seething heat in my chest and my face... I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut. Cisco takes my face in his hand, cupping my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"You're a virgin." And he knows damn well why. The thought makes my eyes sting again; I suck it up.

Wordless, Cisco reaches behind my back to free my hands. I warily accept the tiny comfort, bringing them forward to rub my reddened wrists. Doesn't last very long when Cisco climbs onto the table. I knew there was a catch.

"Not with you..." I beg. My hands pushing against his chest can't slow his shadow looming over me. He peels away the thong, exposing me before he drapes my thighs over his. The sound of his zipper makes my heart beat loud. "I don't want it to be you," I moan, "I'll take anyone else... Anyone! Axel - Alexander - whatever, I don't care! Anyone but you. _Cisco!_ " His name tears from my throat as his monstrous weapon makes an appearance. "You're my _brother!_ " I try to remind him since he has clearly forgotten! My entire body seizes up as he pushes at my backdoor, pressuring my frightened hole with firm thrusts. Going once... going twice... "You're my brother..." Hapless repetitive babbling. This is really happening. Isn't it?

"You don't get it." I feel his soft coat on my skin. Cico leans over me, taking my face as he touches his forehead to mine. "I never want you to forget this."

 

###

 

My eyes shot open and my heart was racing, but I had no idea why. Summer was gone; the living room was pitch black. And so was Cisco, but that made sense. He hated the dark. _I overslept._ And that meant Father- but I never did complete that thought because there was something on top of me. Huge and dark, it put its entire weight on my little chest, suffocating me where I lay on the couch. A monster made of alcohol and smoke and the smell of vomit. The fumes it gave off made my eyes water.

"Father?" I called plaintively, because it was my father. But if it was my father, then why was he touching me _there?_ What was he doing? Where was my shirt? So restrictive in the daylight, but now it was _freezing_. One thought stood out from the rest: _my noisemaker_ \- I squirmed under him, looking frantically from side to side. My legs curled up anxiously against his sides.

"Where did it go?" I gasped aloud. "It was- It was just here - Father, did you see it, it was just-"

" _QUIET!_ " he roared at me; I shivered. "Shut your mouth, Rayce." I clamped both hands over my mouth, reflexively at that point. Was this a punishment for my wrong teeth again? Tiny whimpers escaped the seal of my fingers as I stared up at the ceiling.

 

###

 

My mouth opens in a soundless scream. He really did it. He really went and fucking did it. A terrible ache eats away at my chest with the wrongness of it all... Then come the physical limitations. It becomes immediately obvious that he's too big for me when my unprepared hole dabbles frantically around him.

"That doesn't... fit..." I say haltingly. It doesn't stop him. I can't stop him anymore. Instead I let out an actual scream as he forces himself into me inch for goddamned inch. Cisco grunts with the effort, fingers digging painfully into my thighs. There's lube - _right there_ \- but he won't use it. He wants to hurt me.

Searing pain incises my entire lower body.

"Now look what you've done; you made me tear it." I feel wetness between my legs.

"Made you?!" I spit furiously. "You are fucking your brother in the ass in case you missed it the first time!"

"You're tight..." he mutters, his face hidden by red hair.

"Don't say things like-" A tiny gasp escapes my throat where the rest of my protest should've been. Eyes wide, lip trembling. _No, Rayce. That does NOT feel good._ Too late, he saw it. Cisco smiles knowingly.

"Found your spot."

"I don't have a spot!" But he just chuckles lightly and pushes right on through.

Cisco's hips meet my rear after an eternity of what felt like a chimp trying to stuff a square into a circle. I lie there panting, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I managed to take all of that as my walls contract inquisitively around the girthy intruder.

"Look at your face. You love this, don't you?" Fucking hell. I rear up as far as I can go before the others pull me back just short of punching a tooth or two out of his jaw. He lowers his gaze to my abs, running his hands down my sides to rest at my hips.

"But then, of course you love it, Rayce." _Now_ he uses the lube, letting a warm, syrupy stream spill over my rock-hard cock to the place underneath. "Because you're a _slut._ " Cisco thrusts. I think he just realized this punishment would be even more sick if I _enjoyed_ it. I have to bite down on my lip not to scream out in agony... or _ecstasy_ with every ravaging plunge. Cisco takes my hands at the wrists and slams them back to the table as he looms over me, _dominating_.

"All you ever cared about was _sex_ . And all your friends were the _paid_ kind..." Panting, he tilts his head slightly. "But I kind of get it now. This does feel pretty good."

 _Stop-_ Is what I wanted to say, but I let out a throaty moan instead. I've never had it... Like _this_ before... My body arches instinctively on waves of pleasure; he's making my eyes roll back.  

"I got a call the night I enlisted," Cisco says quietly. "That you nearly OD'd balls deep in some hooker. Is that how you wanted to go?"  

He pulls out without warning to roughly flip me onto my hands and knees. Re-enters me in one tearing thrust before he grabs a handful of my hair and wrenches my head up. My mouth goes dry. I stare around, wide-eyed at the audience I'd almost forgotten we had. An audience that shoots me lascivious looks, waiting for their turn like crocs watching an oblivious swimmer...

Cisco leans over to whisper in my ear, "Well congratulations, because this is the rest of your life."

"Is that going to make up for yours?" I gasp. Just to torment me, he changes angles, using predetermined intelligence to execute another flawless manoeuvre on the battlefield. I can't hold back the cries of ecstasy that escape me when he hammers my prostate. "Oh _god!_ " I scream. My face flashes hotly as he rams into me over and over... Okay, okay, I do have a spot, I get it! He bunches my hands by the wrists in one of his, using them to yank me back in time with his thrusts, hitting home each time. He arcs his own back in the same mind-numbing pleasure.

"You were a criminal, Rayce..." He stares at the ceiling vacantly. "You thought you could get away with it because of your name. But I let you go to jail, because it was the best thing you ever did for the Gunner name." My gaze drops to the glass, guilty. "You're a bad person, Rayce." He sentences me. "So why is everyone acting like you're the hero?" His vicious hilting draws another choked cry from my throat. He grits his teeth. "And _I'm_ the villain for being a good son? Being a good leader? Bearing the weight of the _whole world_ , because no one else would be _insane_ enough to do it."

"No one asked you to do that." I narrow my eyes at him.

"No. They just expected it."

Determined to see how many different ways he can commit this sin, Cisco switches positions again but I hate this one. He drags me into his lap, resting my hands on his shoulders and his throbbing cock up my ass. He's close and I'm briefly disgusted that I know that.

"You... Do you... Wanna play 'Cisco Says'?" he says almost nonsensically. I stare at him for a long time. He continues when I don't speak, "Ride me," I blink slowly, staring at the chest I used to fall asleep during late night movie binges. " _Cisco_ _says_. Ride me." Then my hips move, rising and falling gently. "See? You do remember how to play." So fine, we'll corrupt this stupid, silly, childish game too, just because there's nothing else left to destroy. I meet his eyes wordlessly. _I looked up to you._

"Cisco says, go faster." I speed it up, playing his game like when we were kids... Just trying to give some kind of rhyme and reason, no matter how idiotic, to what's happening now. _You were my hero_ . Throwing my arms around his neck for support, I gasp out loud. He's _moaning._ Arms wrap around my bare back. His breath is hot in my ear; "Cisco says, _harder_ ," And I find out I can make it feel better, using his cock to hit my button in all the right ways.

"I'm gonna cum," I say between heavy breaths.

He looks _hungry_. "Give your brother a kiss." Sliding my arms obediently around his neck and shoulders, I let him devour my lips.

When we part, he whispers, naughty, "I didn't say 'Cisco says'." My eyes widen, face going hot, and that horrified expression is enough to make him cum.

 

###

 

Fingers slipped under the elastic band of my shorts, tugging them down. Then we both heard the sound of the gun cocking. I turned to see Cisco standing in the dark of the living room - even though I knew he was afraid of the monsters that lived there. But at that moment, the overcast grey of his eyes turned to razor sharp steel over the sight of Father's commemorative pistol. He looked like he could slay all those monsters, and he was starting right here. Father raised both hands as he rose slowly, palms facing outward.

"Cisco-" he said sharply, but all I heard was _fear_ . "Where did you get that? Put it down _right now!_ "

"Get off him," Cisco said quietly.

"You're not going to shoot me..." An irritable growl. "You don't have the balls to do something like that." And then Father did get off me, but now he was advancing on Cisco. "For fuck's sake, Cissy, you still wet the bed," he taunted cruelly. "You still make me cut the goddamn crusts off your sandwiches.You're still scared of the fucking _dark!_ You are _not_ going to shoot-" BANG!

The sound jolted me. Then I heard Father scream.

"Father?" I cried, scared and confused. Still howling in agony, he pressed a hand to his shoulder. Blood streamed between his fingers and soaked the arm of his shirt. Father pounded up the stairs, clutching at his arm as if it would fall off if he didn't.

I sniffled as Cisco dropped into the couch beside me. The pistol lay on the carpet where it fell after he dropped it. His eyes were wide and his face was gaunt; I watched him grow all the way up in the space of five seconds. Just like Father always wanted.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. I nodded slow. "Here." He held out the noisemaker to me on an outstretched palm, but I ignored it and hugged him instead.

 

###

 

I throw my arms around Cisco before he can walk away from the table and leave me here in what he's done. He's still for a long time before he returns the embrace. Comforting arms fold around me.

"I love you," I say suddenly.

"I-I love you too." The clouds part, and for just a second, I fool myself into thinking that I  see that kid in the living room again: my big brother Cisco. My hero. He's long gone.

BANG!

Cisco's mouth falls open soundlessly. His eyes dart quickly to his gun holster: it's empty. Then he looks down at the hole in his heart gurgling blood. I drop Cisco's gun to hold him tighter, shaking through my tears.

"But it's too late now."

 

###END###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for joining me on this adventure and I would love to hear what you thought of the first book. I will still be replying to comments/questions as usual (guest comments are okay). Your feedback helps me become a better writer, helps others find this story and obviously, MAKES MY DAY! 
> 
> As always, thanks for the support, thanks for reading and I hope to see you on my next adventure!
> 
> THE SEQUEL IS OUT NOW - [Click here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948701/chapters/37192430) to go there right away.
> 
> Did you know Jun has his own [spinoff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079315/chapters/32437350)? 
> 
> Then I bet you definitely didn't know that Flaere has a [spinoff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080236/chapters/32439774)!
> 
> -KassiopeiaX


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